r 


Zbe  £ngli3b 
Com^Me  "fcumatne 


IT  IS 

NEVER  TOO  LATE 

TO   MEND 


CHARLES  READE 


Zhc  JBwQlieh  ComeMe  Ibumaine 

Masterpieces  of  the  great  English  novelists 
in  which  are  portrayed  the  varying  aspects 
of  English  life  from  the  time  of  Addison 
to  the  present  day :  a  series  analogous  to 
that  in  w^hich  Balzac  depicted  the  manners 
and  morals  of  his  French  contemporaries 


^irst  Serica 

TWELVE  VOLUMES 


¥ 


LIST  OF  TITLES  AND  AUTHORS 


1  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  < 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield 
The  Man  of  Feeling 

2  Pamela      .... 

3  Joseph  Andrews 

4  Humphry  Clinker  . 

5  Pride  and  Prejudice 

6  Guy  Mannering 

7  Coningsby 

8  The  Caxtons 

9  Jane  Eyre 

10  It  is  Never  too   Late 

Mend      .... 

1 1  Adam  Bede 

12  Barchester  Towers 


TO 


Joseph  Addison  and 
Richard  Steele 
Oliver  Goldsmith 
Henry  Mackenzie 
Samuel  Richardson 
Henry  Fielding 
Tobias  Smollett 
Jane  A  usten 
Sir  Walter  Scott 
Benjamin  Disraeli 
Bulwer  Lytton 
Charlotte  Brotit'e 
I 

Charles  Reade 
George  Eliot 
Anthony  Trollope 


"■'Not  if  I  know  it,'  said  (jcorge      .      .      .       'Whv  the  man  is 
twice  your  age  and  nothing  in  his  hand ' " 


Zbe  JEnglisb  Come&ie  "toumainc 


IT  IS 

NEVER  TOO  LATE 

TO  MEND 

A  MATTER-OF-FACT  ROMANCE 


BY 

CHARLES  READE 


V»»^\.«Mi 


NEW  YORK 

Zhc  Centura?  Co. 

1902 


Copyright,  1902,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published  November,  igo3. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

Charles  Reade  was  born  in  1814  and  died  in  1884.  He 
studied  at  Oxford  and  rose  to  be,  successively,  fellow,  Vinerian 
scholar,  dean  of  arts,  and  vice-president  of  his  college  (Magda- 
len). In  1843  he  was  called  to  the  bar.  After  taking  his  degree, 
he  secured  permanent  lodgings,  and  later  a  home,  in  London, 
and  gradually  withdrew  from  university  life.  His  entry  into 
literature  was  made  as  a  dramatist,  his  first  play,  "The  Ladies' 
Battle,"  being  produced  at  the  Olympic  in  185  i. 

In  1855  his  sympathy  was  aroused  by  the  published  account 
of  the  cruelties  inflicted  upon  the  prisoners  by  the  governor  of 
the  Birmingham  jail.  He  took  up  the  cause  of  the  convicts, 
studied  the  facts  in  the  jails  of  Durham,  Oxford,  and  Reading, 
and  embodied  the  results  of  his  investigations  in  his  first  long 
novel,  "It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend,"  published  in  1856.  The 
scene  moves  from  an  English  prison  to  New  South  Wales,  Aus- 
tralia, as  was  natural  in  the  decade  which  saw  the  successful 
struggle  of  that  colony  to  rid  herself  of  the  incubus  of  convict 
settlers.  The  development  of  the  gold-fields  there  in  185 1  was 
also  a  vital  topic  at  the  time  the  story  was  written,  and  life  in  a 
miners'  camp  gave  an  opportunity  to  the  novelist  to  show  the 
realistic  and  dramatic  powers  which  have  led  his  later  critics  to 
place  his  name  with  those  of  Eugene  Sue,  Dumas  pere,  and 
Emile  Zola.  The  book  did  much  to  stimulate  public  interest  in 
social  regeneration,  and,  with  later  works  by  the  same  author, 
was  a  powerful  factor  in  producing  the  wave  of  reform  which 
moved  over  England  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century. 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

From  drawings  by  Clifford  Carleton 

■*'NOT  IF  I  KNOW  IT,'  SAID  GEORGE.  .  .  'WHY, 
THE  MAN  IS  TWICE  YOUR  AGE  AND  NOTHING  IN 
HIS  HAND '  " Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

"The  DOOR  WAS  OPENED,  .  .  .  AND  A  FIGURE  EMERGED 
SO  SUDDENLY  AND  DISTINCTLY  FROM  THE  BLACKNESS, 
THAT  Mr.   Lacy  STARTED"  318 

"At  a  SECOND  GLANCE  IT  WAS    PLAIN  THE   MAN  WAS  DEAD"      618 


THIS  ATTEMPT  AT  A  SOLID  FICTION  IS, 
WITH  THEIR  PERMISSION,  DEDICATED  TO 
THE  PRESIDENT,  FELLOWS,  AND  DEMIES 
OF  ST.  MARY  MAGDALEN  COLLEGE,  OXFORD, 
BY  A  GRATEFUL  SON  OF  THAT  ANCIENT, 
LEARNED,  AND    MOST    CHARITABLE    HOUSE 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE 
TO   MEND 


IT    IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE 
TO   MEND 

CHAPTER    I. 

GEORGE  FIELDING  cultivated  a  small  farm  in  Berk- 
shire. 

This  position  is  not  so  enviable  as  it  was :  years  ago,  the 
farmers  of  England,  had  they  been  as  intelligent  as  other 
traders,  could  have  purchased  the  English  soil  by  means  of 
the  huge  percentage  it  offered  them. 

But  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  a  farmer  must  be  as  sharp  as  his 
neighbours,  or  like  his  neighbours  he  will  break.  What  do  I 
say?  There  are  soils  and  situations  where,  in  spite  of  intelli- 
gence and  sobriety,  he  is  almost  sure  to  break;  just  as  there 
are  shops  where  the  lively,  the  severe,  the  industrious,  the 
lazy,  are  fractured  alike. 

This  last  fact  I  make  mine  by  perambulating  a  certain  great 
street  every  three  months,  and  observing  how  name  succeeds 
to  name  as  wave  to  wave. 

Readers  hardened  by  "The  Times"  will  not,  perhaps,  go  so 
far  as  to  weep  over  a  body  of  traders  for  being  reduced  to  the 
average  condition  of  all  other  traders :  but  the  individual 
trader,  who  fights  for  existence  against  unfair  odds,  is  to  be 
pitied  whether  his  shop  has  plate  glass  or  a  barn  door  to  it ; 
and  he  is  the  more  to  be  pitied  when  he  is  sober,  intelligent, 
proud,  sensitive,  and  unlucky. 

George  Fielding  was  all  these,  who,  a  few  years  ago,  as- 
sisted by  his  brother  William,  tilled  "The  Grove" — as  nasty  a 
little  farm  as  any  in  Berkshire. 

Discontented  as  he  was,  the  expression  hereinbefore  written 

3 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

would  have  seemed  profane  to  young  Fielding,  for  a  farmer's 
farm  and  a  sailor's  ship  have  always  something  sacred  in  the 
sufferer's  eyes,  though  one  sends  one  to  jail,  and  the  other  the 
other  to  Jones. 

It  was  four  hundred  acres,  all  arable,  and  most  of  it  poor, 
sour  land.  George's  father  had  one  hundred  acres  grass  with 
it,  but  this  had  been  separated  six  years  ago. 

There  was  not  a  tree,  nor  even  an  old  stump  to  show  for 
this  word  "Grove." 

But  in  the  country  oral  tradition  still  flourishes. 

There  had  been  trees  in  "The  Grove,"  only  the  title  had 
outlived  the  timber  a  few  centuries. 

On  the  morning  of  our  tale  George  Fielding  might  have 
been  seen  near  his  own  homestead,  conversing  with  the  Hon- 
ourable Frank  Winchester. 

This  gentleman  was  a  character  that  will  be  common  some 
day,  but  was  nearly  unique  at  the  date  of  our  story. 

He  had  not  an  extraordinary  intellect,  but  he  had  great 
natural  gaiety,  and  under  that  he  had  enormous  good  sense ; 
his  good  sense  was  really  brilliant,  he  had  a  sort  of  universal 
healthy  mind  that  I  can't  understand  how  people  get. 

He  was  deeply  in  love  with  a  lady  who  returned  his  passion, 
but  she  was  hopelessly  out  of  his  reach,  because  he  had  not 
much  money  or  expectations ;  instead  of  sitting  down  railing, 
or  sauntering  about  whining,  what  did  me  the  Honourable 
Frank  Winchester?  He  looked  over  England  for  the  means 
of  getting  this  money,  and  not  finding  it  there,  he  surveyed 
the  globe  and  selected  Australia,  where,  they  told  him,  a  little 
money  turns  to  a  deal,  instead  of  dissolving  in  the  hand  like 
a  lozenge  in  the  mouth,  as  it  does  in  London. 

So  here  was  an  earl's  son  (in  this  age  of  commonplace 
events)  going  to  Australia  with  five  thousand  pounds,  as 
sheep  farmer  and  general  speculator. 

He  was  trying  hard  to  persuade  George  Fielding  to  accom- 
pany him  as  bailifif  or  agricultural  adviser  and  manager. 

He  knew  the  young  man's  value,  but  to  do  him  justice  his 
aim  was  not  purely  selfish ;  he  was  aware  that  Fielding  had  a 
bad  bargain  in  "The  Grove,"  and  the  farmer  had  saved  his 
life  at  great  personal  risk  one  day  that  he  was  seized  with 
cramp  bathing  in  the  turbid  waters  of  Cleve  millpool,  and  he 

4 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

wanted  to  serve  him  in  return.  This  was  not  his  first  at- 
tempt of  the  kind,  and,  but  for  one  reason,  perhaps  he  might 
have  succeeded. 

"You  know  me  and  I  know  you,"  said  Mr.  Winchester  to 
George  Fielding;  "I  must  have  somebody  to  put  me  in  the 
way :  stay  with  me  one  year,  and  after  that  I'll  square  ac- 
counts with  you  about  that  thundering  millpool." 

"Oh !  Mr.  Winchester,"  said  George  hastily,  and  blushing 
like  fire,  "that's  an  old  story,  sir?"  with  a  sweet  little  half- 
cunning  smile  that  showed  he  was  glad  it  was  not  forgotten. 

"Not  quite,"  replied  the  young  gentleman  drily;  "you  shall 
have  five  hundred  sheep  and  a  run  for  them,  and  we  will  both 
come  home  rich,  and  consequently  respectable." 

"It  is  a  handsome  ofTer,  sir,  and  a  kind  offer,  and  like  your- 
self, sir,  but  transplanting  one  of  us,"  continued  George, 
"dear  me,  sir,  it's  like  taking  up  an  oak  tree  thirty  years  in 
the  ground — besides — besides — did  you  ever  notice  my  cousin 
Susanna,  sir?" 

"Notice  her !  why,  do  you  think  I  am  a  heathen,  and  never 
go  to  the  parish  church  ?  Miss  Merton  is  a  lovely  girl ;  she 
sits  in  the  pew  by  the  pillar." 

"Isn't  she,  sir?"  said  George. 

Mr.  Winchester  endeavoured  to  turn  this  adverse  topic  in 
his  favour ;  he  made  a  remark  that  produced  no  effect  at  the 
time.  He  said,  "People  don't  go  to  Australia  to  die — they  go 
to  Australia  to  make  money,  and  come  home  and  marry — 
and  it  is  what  you  must  do — this  'Grove'  is  a  millstone  round 
your  neck.     Will  you  have  a  cigar,  farmer?" 

George  consented,  premising,  however,  that  hitherto  he 
had  never  got  beyond  a  yard  of  clay,  and  after  drawing  a  puff 
or  two  he  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  looking  at  it, 
said,  "I  say,  sir !  seems  to  me  the  fire  is  uncommon  near  the 
chimbly."  Mr.  Winchester  laughed ;  he  then  asked  George 
to  show  him  the  blacksmith's  shop.  "I  must  learn  how  to 
shoe  a  horse,"  said  the  honourable  Frank. 

"Well,  I  never,"  thought  George.  "The  first  nob  in  the 
country  going  to  shoe  a  horse,"  but  with  his  rustic  delicacy  he 
said  nothing,  and  led  Mr.  Winchester  to  the  blacksmith's 
shop. 

Whilst  this  young  gentleman  is  hammering  nails  into  a 

5 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

horse's  hoof,  and  Australia  into  an  English  farmer's  mind,  we 
must  introduce  other  personages. 

Susanna  Merton  was  beautiful  and  good :  George  Fielding 
and  she  were  acknowledged  lovers,  but  marriage  was  not 
spoken  of  as  a  near  event,  and  latterly  old  Merton  had  seemed 
cool  whenever  his  daughter  mentioned  the  young  man's  name. 

Susanna  appeared  to  like  George,  though  not  so  warmly  as 
he  loved  her ;  but  at  all  events  she  accepted  no  other  proffers 
of  love ;  for  all  that  she  had,  besides  a  host  of  admirers,  other 
lovers  besides  George,  and  what  is  a  great  deal  more  singular 
(for  a  woman's  eye  is  quick  as  lightning  in  finding  out  who 
loves  her),  there  was  more  than  one  of  whose  passion  she  was 
not  conscious. 

William  Fielding,  George's  brother,  was  in  love  with  his 
brother's  sweetheart,  but  though  he  trembled  with  pleasure 
when  she  was  near  him,  he  never  looked  at  her  except  by 
stealth ;  he  knew  he  had  no  business  to  love  her. 

On  the  morning  of  our  tale,  Susan's  father,  old  Merton, 
had  walked  over  from  his  farm  to  "The  Grove,"  and  was  in- 
specting a  field  behind  George's  house,  when  he  was  accosted 
by  his  friend  Mr.  Meadows,  who  had  seen  him,  and  giving 
his  horse  to  a  boy  to  hold,  had  crossed  the  stubbles  to  speak 
to  him. 

Mr.  Meadows  was  not  a  common  man,  and  merits  some 
preliminary  notice. 

He  was  what  is  called  in  the  country  "a  lucky  man ;"  every- 
thing he  had  done  in  life  had  prospered. 

The  neighbours  admired,  respected,  and  some  of  them  even 
hated  this  respectable  man,  who  had  been  a  carter  in  the 
midst  of  them,  and  now  at  forty  years  of  age  was  a  rich  corn- 
factor  and  land-surveyor. 

"All  this  money  cannot  have  been  honestly  got,"  said  the 
envious  ones  among  themselves ;  yet  they  could  not  put  their 
finger  on  any  dishonest  action  he  had  done :  to  the  more  can- 
did the  known  qualities  of  the  man  accounted  for  his  life  of 
success. 

This  John  Meadows  had  a  cool  head,  an  iron  will,  a  body 
and  mind  alike  indefatigable,  and  an  eye  never  diverted  from 
the  great  objects  of  sober,  industrious  men — wealth  and  re- 
spectability ;  he  had  also  the  soul  of  business — method ! 

6 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

At  one  hour  he  was  sure  to  be  at  church;  at  another,  at 
market ;  in  his  office  at  a  third ;  and  at  home  when  respectable 
men  should  be  at  home. 

By  this  means  Mr.  Meadows  was  always  to  be  found  by 
any  man  who  wanted  to  do  business ;  and  when  you  had 
found  him,  you  found  a  man  superficially  coy,  perhaps,  but  at 
bottom  always  ready  to  do  business,  and  equally  sure  to  get 
the  sunny  side  of  it,  and  give  you  the  windy. 

Meadows  was  generally  respected ;  by  none  more  than  by 
old  Merton ;  and  during  the  last  few  months  the  intimacy  of 
these  two  men  had  ripened  into  friendship ;  the  corn-factor 
often  hooked  his  bridle  to  the  old  farmer's  gate,  and  took  a 
particular  interest  in  all  his  affairs. 

Such  was  John  Meadows. 

In  person,  he  was  a  tall  stout  man.  with  iron-grey  hair,  a 
healthy  weather-coloured  complexion,  and  a  massive 
brow  that  spoke  to  the  depth  and  force  of  the  man's  char- 
acter. 

"What,  taking  a  look  at  the  farm,  Mr.  Merton?  it  wants 
some  of  your  grass  put  to  it,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"I  never  thought  much  of  the  farm,"  was  the  reply,  "it  lies 
cold ;  the  sixty-acre  field  is  well  enough,  but  the  land  on  the 
hill  is  as  poor  as  death." 

Now  this  idea,  which  Merton  gave  out  as  his,  had  dropped 
into  him  from  Meadows  three  weeks  before. 

"Farmer,"  said  Meadows  in  an  undertone,  "they  are 
thrashing  out  new  wheat  for  the  rent." 

"You  don't  say  so?  why  I  didn't  hear  the  flail  going." 

"They  have  just  knocked  off  for  dinner — you  need  not  say 
I  told  you,  but  Will  Fielding  was  at  the  bank  this  morning, 
trying  to  get  money  on  their  bill,  and  the  bank  said  No! 
They  had  my  good  word  too.  The  people  of  the  bank  sent 
over  to  me." 

They  had  his  good  word !  but  not  his  good  tone !  he  had 
said,  "Well,  their  father  was  a  safe  man ;"  but  the  accent  with 
which  he  eulogised  the  parent  had  somehow  locked  the  bank 
cash-box  to  the  children. 

"I  never  liked  it,  especially  of  late,"  mused  Merton.  "But 
you  see  the  young  folk  being  cousins " 

"That  is  it,  cousins,"  put  in  Meadows ;  "it  is  not  as  if  she 

7 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

loved  him  with  all  her  heart  and  soul ;  she  is  an  obedient 
daughter,  isn't  she?" 

"Never  gainsayed  me  in  her  life;  she  has  a  high  spirit,  but 
never  with  me,  my  word  is  law.  You  see  she  is  a  very  re- 
ligious girl  is  Susan." 

"Well,  then,  a  word  from  you  would  save  her — but  there — 
all  that  is  your  affair,  not  mine,"  added  he. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  was  the  reply.  "You  are  a  true  friend : 
I'll  step  round  to  the  barn  and  see  what  is  doing ;"  and  away 
went  Susan's  father,  uneasy  in  his  mind. 

Meadows  went  to  the  "Black  Horse,"  the  village  public- 
house,  to  see  what  farmers  wanted  to  borrow  a  little  money 
under  the  rose,  and  would  pawn  their  wheat  ricks,  and  pay 
twenty  per  cent,  for  that  overrated  merchandise. 

At  the  door  of  the  public-house  he  was  met  by  the  village 
constable,  and  a  stranger  of  gentlemanly  address  and  clerical 
appearance ;  the  constable  wore  a  mysterious  look,  and  invited 
Meadows  into  the  parlour  of  the  public-house. 

"I  have  news  for  you,  sir,"  said  he,  "leastways  I  think  so ; 
your  pocket  was  picked  last  Martinmas  fair  of  three  Farn- 
borough  bank-notes  with  your  name  on  the  back." 
"It  was!" 

"Is  this  one  of  them?"  said  the  man,  producing  a  note. 
Meadows  examined  it  with  interest,  compared  the  number 
with  a  memorandum  in  his  pocket-book,  and  pronounced  that 
it  was. 

"Who  passed  it?"  inquired  he. 

"A  chap  that  has  got  the  rest — a  stranger — Robinson — ■ 
that  lodges  at  'The  Grove'  with  George  Fielding;  that  is,  if 
his  name  is  Robinson,  but  we  think  he  is  a  Londoner  come 
down  to  take  an  airing.     You  understand,  sir." 

Meadows'  eyes  flashed  actual  fire :  for  so  rich  a  man,  he 
seemed  wonderfully  excited  by  this  circumstance. 

To  an  inquiry  who  was  his  companion,  the  constable  an- 
swered, sotto  voce,  "Gentleman  from  Bow  Street  come  to  see 
if  he  knows  him."  The  constable  went  on  to  inform  Mead- 
ows that  Robinson  was  out  fishing  somewhere,  otherwise 
they  would  already  have  taken  him ;  "but  we  will  hang  about 
the  farm,  and  take  him  when  he  comes  home." 

"You  had  better  be  at  hand,  sir,  to  identify  the  notes,"  said 

8 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

the  gentleman  from  Bow  Street,  whose  appearance  was 
clerical. 

Meadows  had  important  business  five  miles  off :  he  post- 
poned it.  He  wrote  a  line  in  pencil,  put  a  boy  upon  his  black 
mare,  and  hurried  him  off  to  the  rendezvous,  while  he  stayed 
and  entered  with  strange  alacrity  into  this  affair.  "Stay," 
cried  he,  "if  he  is  an  old  hand  he  will  twig  the  officer." 

"Oh,  I'm  dark,  sir,"  was  the  answer;  "he  won't  know  me 
till  I  put  the  darbies  on  him." 

The  two  men  then  strolled  as  far  as  the  village  stocks, 
keeping  an  eye  ever  on  the  farm-house. 

Thus  a  network  of  adverse  events  was  closing  round 
George  Fielding  this  day. 

He  was  all  unconscious  of  them ;  he  was  in  good  spirits. 
Robinson  had  showed  him  how  to  relieve  the  temporary  em- 
barrassment that  had  lately  depressed  him. 

"Draw  a  bill  on  your  brother,"  said  Robinson,  "and  let  him 
accept  it.  The  Farnborough  Bank  will  give  you  notes  for  it : 
these  country  banks  like  any  paper  better  than  their  own.  I 
dare  say  they  are  right." 

George  had  done  this,  and  expected  William  every  minute 
with  this  and  other  monies ;  and  then  Susanna  Merton  was 
to  dine  at  "The  Grove"  to-day,  and  this,  though  not  uncom- 
mon, was  always  a  great  event  with  poor  George. 

Dilly  would  not  come  to  be  killed  just  when  he  was 
wanted :  in  other  words,  Robinson,  who  had  no  idea  how  he 
was  keeping  people  waiting,  fished  tranquilly  till  near  dinner- 
time, neither  taking  nor  being  taken. 

This  detained  Meadows  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  farm, 
and  w^as  the  cause  of  his  rencontre  with  a  very  singular  per- 
sonage, whose  visit  he  knew  at  sight  must  be  to  him. 

As  he  hovered  about  among  George  Fielding's  ricks,  the 
figure  of  an  old  man  slightly  bowed  but  full  of  vigour  stood 
before  him.  He  had  a  long  grey  beard  with  a  slight  division 
in  the  centre,  hair  abundant  but  almost  white,  and  a  dark 
swarthy  complexion  that  did  not  belong  to  England ;  his  thick 
eyebrows  also  were  darker  than  his  hair,  and  under  them 
was  an  eye  like  a  royal  jewel;  his  voice  had  the  oriental 
richness  and  modulation — this  old  man  was  Isaac  Levi ;  an 
oriental  Jew  who  had  passed  half  his  life  under  the  sun's 

0 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

eye,  and  now,  though  the  town  of  Farnborough  had  long 
been  too  accustomed  to  him  to  wonder  at  him,  he  dazzled 
any  thoughtful  stranger;  so  exotic  and  apart  was  he — so 
romantic  a  grain  in  a  heap  of  vulgarity — he  was  as  though 
a  striped  jasper  had  crept  in  among  the  paving-stones  of 
their  market-place,  or  a  cactus  grandiflora  shone  amongst  the 
nettles  of  a  Berkshire  meadow. 

Isaac  Levi,  unlike  most  Jews,  was  famiHar  with  the  Hebrew 
tongue,  and  this  and  the  Eastern  habits  of  his  youth  coloured 
his  language  and  his  thoughts,  especially  in  his  moments  of 
emotion,  and  above  all,  when  he  forgot  the  money-lender 
for  a  moment,  and  felt  and  thought  as  one  of  a  great  nation, 
depressed,  but  waiting  for  a  great  deliverance.  He  was  a 
man  of  authority  and  learning  in  his  tribe. 

At  sight  of  Isaac  Levi  Meadows'  brow  lowered,  and  he 
called  out  rather  rudely  without  allowing  the  old  gentleman 
to  speak,  "If  you  are  come  to  talk  to  me  about  that  house 
you  are  in  you  may  keep  your  breath  to  cool  your  porridge." 

Meadows  had  bought  the  house  Isaac  rented,  and  had  in- 
stantly given  him  warning  to  leave. 

Isaac,  who  had  become  strangely  attached  to  the  only  place 
in  which  he  had  ever  lived  many  years,  had  not  doubted  for  a 
moment  that  Meadows  merely  meant  to  raise  the  rent  to  its 
full  value,  so  he  had  come  to  treat  with  his  new  landlord. 
"Mr.  Meadows,"  said  he  persuasively,  "I  have  lived  there 
twenty  years — I  pay  a  fair  rent — but,  if  you  think  any  one 
would  give  you  more,  you  shall  lose  nothing  by  me — I  will 
pay  a  little  more ;  and  you  know  your  rent  is  secure  ?" 

"I  do,"  was  the  answer. 

"Thank  you,  sir!  well,  then " 

"Well,  then,  next  Lady-day  you  turn  out  bag  and  bag- 
gage." 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  Isaac  Levi,  "hear  me,  for  you  are  younger 
than  I.  Mr.  Meadows,  when  this  hair  was  brown  I  travelled 
in  the  East ;  I  sojourned  in  Madras  and  Benares,  in  Bagdad, 
Ispahan,  Mecca,  and  Bassora,  and  found  no  rest.  When  my 
hair  began  to  turn  grey,  I  traded  in  Petersburg,  and  Rome, 
and  Paris,  Vienna,  and  Lisbon,  and  other  western  cities,  and 
found  no  rest.  I  came  to  this  little  town,  where,  least  of  all, 
I  thought  to  pitch  my  tent  for  life,  but  here  the  God  of  my 

10 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

fathers  gave  me  my  wife,  and  here  He  took  her  to  Himself 
again " 

"What  the  deuce  is  all  this  to  me,  man  ?" 

"Much,  sir,  if  you  are  what  men  say;  for  men  speak  well 
of  you ;  be  patient,  and  hear  me.  Two  children  were  born 
to  me  and  died  from  me  in  the  house  you  have  bought;  and 
there  my  Leah  died  also ;  and  there  at  times  in  the  silent 
hours  I  seem  to  hear  their  voices  and  their  feet.  In  another 
house  I  shall  never  hear  them — I  shall  be  quite  alone.  Have 
pity  on  me,  sir,  an  aged  and  a  lonely  man ;  tear  me  not  from 
the  shadows  of  my  dead.     Let  me  prevail  with  you?" 

"No !"  was  the  stern  answer. 

"No  ?"  cried  Levi,  a  sudden  light  darting  into  his  eye ; 
"then  you  must  be  an  enemy  of  Isaac  Levi  ?" 

"Yes !"  was  the  grim  reply  to  this  rapid  inference. 

"Ah !"  cried  the  old  Jew,  with  a  sudden  defiance,  which  he 
instantly  suppressed.  "And  what  have  I  done  to  gain  your 
enmity,  sir?"  said  he,  in  a  tone  crushed  by  main  force  into 
mere  regret. 

"You  lend  money." 

"A  little,  sir,  now  and  then — a  very  little." 

"That  is  to  say,  when  the  security  is  bad,  you  have  no 
money  in  hand ;  but  when  the  security  is  good,  nobody  has 
ever  found  the  bottom  of  Isaac  Levi's  purse." 

"Our  people,"  said  Isaac  apologetically,  "can  trust  one 
another — they  are  not  like  yours.  We  are  brothers,  and  that 
is  why  money  is  always  forthcoming  when  the  deposit  is 
sound." 

"Well,"  said  Meadows,  "what  you  are,  I  am ;  what  I  do 
on  the  sly  you  do  on  the  sly,  old  thirty  per  cent." 

"The  world  is  wide  enough  for  us  both,  good  sir " 

"It  is !"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "And  it  lies  before  you, 
Isaac.  Go  where  you  like,  for  the  little  town  of  Farnborough 
is  not  wide  enough  for  me  and  any  man  that  works  my 
business  for  his  own  pocket " 

"But  this  is  not  enmity,  sir." 

Meadows  gave  a  coarsish  laugh.  "You  are  hard  to  please," 
cried  he,  "I  think  you  will  find  it  is  enmity." 

"Nay!  sir,  this  is  but  matter  of  profit  and  loss.  Well,  let 
me  stay,  and  I  promise  you  shall  gain  and  not  lose.     Our 

II 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

people  are  industrious  and  skilful  in  all  bargains,  but  we  keep 
faith  and  covenant.  So  be  it.  Let  us  be  friends.  I  cove- 
nant with  you,  and  I  swear  by  the  tables  of  the  law,  you  shall 
not  lose  one  shilling  per  annum  by  me." 

"I'll  trust  you  as  far  as  I  can  fling  a  bull  by  the  tail.  You 
gave  me  your  history — take  mine.  I  have  always  put  my 
foot  on  whatever  man  or  thing  has  stood  in  my  way.  I  was 
poor,  I  am  rich,  and  that  is  my  policy." 

"It  is  frail  policy,"  said  Isaac  firmly.  "Some  man  will  be 
sure  to  put  his  foot  on  you,  soon  or  late." 

"What,  do  you  threaten  me?"  roared  Meadows. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Isaac,  gently  but  steadily.  "I  but  tell  you 
what  these  old  eyes  have  seen  in  every  nation,  and  read  in 
books  that  never  lie.  Goliath  defied  armies,  yet  he  fell  like 
a  pigeon  by  a  shepherd-boy's  sling.  Samson  tore  a  lion  in 
pieces  with  his  hands,  but  a  woman  laid  him  low.  No  man 
can  defy  us  all,  sir !  The  strong  man  is  sure  to  find  one  as 
strong  and  more  skilful,  the  cunning  man  one  as  adroit  and 
stronger  than  himself.  Be  advised  then,  do  not  trample  upon 
one  of  my  people.  Nations  and  men  that  oppress  us  do  not 
thrive.  Let  me  have  to  bless  you.  An  old  man's  blessing  is 
gold.  See  these  grey  hairs :  my  sorrows  have  been  as  many 
as  they.  His  share  of  the  curse  that  is  upon  his  tribe  has 
fallen  upon  Isaac  Levi."  Then,  stretching  out  his  hands  with 
a  slight  but  touching  gesture,  he  said,  "I  have  been  driven 
to  and  fro  like  a  leaf  these  many  years,  and  now  I  long  for 
rest.  Let  me  rest  in  my  little  tent,  till  I  rest  for  ever.  Oh ! 
let  me  die  where  those  I  loved  have  died,  and  there  let  me 
be  buried." 

Age,  sorrow,  and  eloquence  pleaded  in  vain,  for  they  were 
wasted  on  the  rocks  of  rocks,  a  strong  will  and  a  vulgar  soul. 
But  indeed  the  whole  thing  was  like  epic  poetry  wrestling 
with  the  Limerick  Chronicle  or  Tuam  Gazette. 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  give  the  respectable  western 
brute's  answer. 

"What !  you  quote  Scripture,  eh  ?  I  thought  you  did  not 
believe  in  that.  Hear  t'other  side.  Abraham  and  Lot 
couldn't  live  in  the  same  place,  because  they  both  kept  sheep, 
and  we  can't,  because  we  fleece  'em.  So  Abraham  gave  Lot 
warning  as  I  give  it  you.     And  as  for  dying  on  my  premises, 

12 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

if  you  like  to  hang  yourself  before  next  Lady-day,  I  give  you 
leave,  but  after  Lady-day  no  more  Jewish  dogs  shall  die  in 
my  house  nor  be  buried  for  manure  in  my  garden." 

Black  lightning  poured  from  the  old  Jew's  eyes,  and  his 
pent-up  wrath  burst  out  like  lava  from  an  angry  mountain. 

"Irreverent  cur !  do  you  rail  on  the  afflicted  of  Heaven  ? 
The  founder  of  your  creed  would  abhor  you,  for  he,  they  say, 
was  pitiful.  I  spit  upon  ye,  and  I  curse  ye.  Be  accursed ! !" 
And  flinging  up  his  hands  like  St.  Paul  at  Lystra,  he  rose  to 
double  his  height,  and  towered  at  his  insulter  with  a  sudden 
Eastern  fury  that  for  a  moment  shook  even  the  iron  Mead- 
ows. "Be  accursed ! !"  he  yelled  again.  "Whatever  is  the 
secret  wish  of  your  black  heart  Heaven  look  on  my  grey  hairs 
that  you  have  insulted,  and  wither  that  wish.  Ah !  ah !"  he 
screamed,  "you  wince.  All  men  have  secret  wishes — Heaven 
fight  against  yours.  May  all  the  good  luck  you  have  be 
wormwood  for  want  of  that — that — that — that.  May  you  be 
near  it,  close  to  it,  upon  it,  pant  for  it,  and  lose  it ;  may  it 
sport,  and  smile,  and  laugh,  and  play  with  you,  till  Gehenna 
bums  your  soul  upon  earth." 

The  old  man's  fiery  forked  tongue  darted  so  keen  and  true 
to  some  sore  in  his  adversary's  heart,  that  he  in  turn  lost  his 
habitual  self-command. 

White  and  black  with  passion  he  wheeled  round  on  Isaac 
with  a  fierce  snarl,  and  lifting  his  stick  discharged  a  furious 
blow  at  his  head. 

Fortunately  for  Isaac  wood  encountered  leather  instead  of 
grey  hairs. 

Attracted  by  the  raised  voices,  and  unseen  in  their  frenzy 
by  either  of  these  antagonists,  young  George  Fielding  had 
drawn  near  them.  He  had,  luckily,  a  stout  pig-whip  in  his 
hand,  and  by  an  adroit  turn  of  his  muscular  wrist  he  parried 
a  blow  that  would  have  stopped  the  old  Jew's  eloquence  per- 
haps for  ever.  As  it  was,  the  corn-factor's  stick  cut  like  a 
razor  through  the  air,  and  made  a  most  musical  whirr  within 
a  foot  of  the  Jew's  ear :  the  basilisk  look  of  venom  and  ven- 
geance he  instantly  shot  back  amounted  to  a  stab. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  said  George.  And  he  stood  cool  and 
erect  with  a  calm  manly  air  of  defiance  between  the  two 
belligerents.     While  the  stick  and  the  whip  still  remained  in 

13 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

contact  Meadows  glared  at  Isaac's  champion  with  surprise 
and  wrath,  and  a  sort  of  half-fear,  half-wonder  that  this  of 
all  men  in  the  world  should  be  the  one  to  cross  weapons  with 
and  thwart  him.  "You  are  joking,  Master  Meadows,"  said 
George  coolly.  "Why  the  man  is  twice  your  age,  and  noth- 
ing in  his  hand  but  his  fist.  Who  are  ye,  old  man,  and  what 
d'ye  want  ?     It's  you  for  cursing,  any  way." 

"He  insults  me,"  cried  Meadows,  "because  I  won't  have 
him  for  a  tenant  against  my  will.  Who  is  he?  A  villainous 
old  Jew." 

"Yes,  young  man,"  said  the  other  sadly,  "I  am  Isaac  Levi, 
a  Jew.  And  what  is  your  religion?"  (he  turned  upon  Mead- 
ows). "It  never  came  out  of  Judea  in  any  name  or  shape. 
D'ye  call  yourself  a  heathen?  Ye  lie,  ye  cur;  the  heathen 
were  not  without  starlight  from  heaven ;  they  respected  sor- 
row and  grey  hairs." 

"You  shall  smart  for  this  :  I'll  show  you  what  my  religion 
is,"  said  Meadows,  inadvertent  with  passion,  and  the  corn- 
factor's  fingers  grasped  his  stick  convulsively. 

"Don't  you  be  so  aggravating,  old  man,"  said  the  good- 
natured  George,  "and  you,  Mr.  Meadows,  should  know  how 
to  make  light  of  an  old  man's  tongue ;  why  it's  like  a  wom- 
an's, it's  all  he  has  got  to  hit  with ;  leastways  you  mustn't  lift 
hand  to  him  on  my  premises,  or  you  will  have  to  settle  with 
me  first ;  and  I  don't  think  that  would  suit  your  book  or  any 
man's  for  a  mile  or  two  round  about  Farnborough,"  said 
George,  with  his  little  Berkshire  drawl. 

"He !"  shrieked  Isaac,  "he  dare  not !  see !  see !"  and  he 
pointed  nearly  into  the  man's  eye,  "he  doesn't  look  you  in  the 
face.  Any  soul  that  has  read  men  from  east  to  west  can  see 
lion  in  your  eye,  young  man,  and  cowardly  wolf  in  his." 

"Lady-day  !  Lady-day  !"  snorted  Meadows,  who  was  now 
shaking  with  suppressed  rage. 

"Ah !"  cried  Isaac,  and  he  turned  white  and  quivered  in  his 
turn. 

"Lady-day !"  said  George  uneasily,  "confound  Lady-day, 
and  every  day  of  the  sort — there,  don't  you  be  so  spiteful,  old 
man — why  if  he  isn't  all  of  a  tremble ; — poor  old  man."  He 
went  to  his  own  door,  and  called  "Sarah !" 

A  stout  servant-girl  answered  the  summons. 

14 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Take  the  old  man  in,  and  give  him  whatever  is  going,  and 
his  mug  and  pipe,"  then  he  whispered  her,  "and  don't  go 
lumping  the  chine  down  under  his  nose,  now." 

"I  thank  you,  young  man,"  faltered  Isaac,  "I  must  not  eat 
with  you,  but  I  will  go  in  and  rest  my  limbs,  which  fail 
me ;  and  compose  myself ;  for  passion  is  unseemly  at  my 
years." 

Arrived  at  the  door,  he  suddenly  paused,  and  looking  up- 
ward, said — 

"Peace  be  under  this  roof,  and  comfort  and  love  follow  me 
into  this  dwelling." 

"Thank  ye  kindly,"  said  young  Fielding,  a  little  surprised 
and  touched  by  this. — "How  old  are  you,  daddy,  if  you 
please?"  added  he  respectfully. 

"My  son,  I  am  threescore  years  and  ten — a  man  of  years 
and  grief — grief  for  myself,  grief  still  more  for  my  nation 
and  city.  Men  that  are  men  pity  us ;  men  that  are  dogs  have 
insulted  us  in  all  ages." 

"Well,"  said  the  good-natured  young  man  soothingly — 
"don't  you  vex  yourself  any  more  about  it.  Now  you  go  in, 
and  forget  all  your  trouble  awhile,  please  God,  by  my  fireside, 
my  poor  old  man." 

Isaac  turned,  the  water  came  to  his  eyes  at  this  after  being 
insulted  so ;  a  little  struggle  took  place  in  him,  but  nature 
conquered  prejudice  and  certain  rubbish  he  called  religion. 
He  held  out  his  hand  like  the  king  of  all  Asia ;  George 
grasped  it  like  an  Englishman. 

"Isaac  Levi  is  your  friend,"  and  the  expression  of  the 
man's  whole  face  and  body  showed  these  words  carried  with 
them  a  meaning  unknown  in  good  society. 

He  entered  the  house,  and  young  Fielding  stood  watching 
him  with  a  natural  curiosity. 

Now  Isaac  Levi  knew  nothing  about  the  corn-factor's 
plans.  When  at  one  and  the  same  moment  he  grasped 
George's  hand,  and  darted  a  long,  lingering  glance  of  de- 
moniacal hatred  on  Meadows,  he  coupled  two  sentiments  by 
pure  chance — and  Meadows  knew  this :  but  still  it  struck 
Meadows  as  singular  and  ominous. 

When,  with  the  best  of  motives  one  is  on  a  wolf's  errand, 
it  is  not  nice  to  hear  an  hyena  say  to  the  shepherd's  dog,  "I 

15 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

am  your  friend,"  and  see  him  contemporaneously  shoot  the 
eye  of  a  rattlesnake  at  oneself. 

The  misgiving,  however,  was  but  momentary ;  Meadows 
respected  his  own  motives,  and  felt  his  own  power ;  an  old 
Jew's  wild  fury  could  not  shake  his  confidence. 

He  muttered,  "One  more  down  to  your  account,  George 
Fielding,"  and  left  the  young  man  watching  Isaac's  retreating- 
form. 

George,  who  didn't  know  he  was  gone,  said — 

"Old  man's  words  seem  to  knock  against  my  bosom,  Mr. 
Meadows — gone — eh? — that  man,"  thought  George  Fielding, 
"has  everybody's  good  word,  parson's  and  all — who'd  think 
he'd  lift  his  hand,  leastways  his  stick  it  was,  and  that's  worse, 
against  a  man  of  threescore  and  upwards — Ugh !"  thought 
George  Fielding,  yeoman  of  the  midland  counties — and  un- 
affected wonder  mingled  with  his  disgust. 

His  reverie  was  broken  by  William  Fielding  just  ridden  in 
from  Farnborough. 

"Better  late  than  never,"  said  the  elder  brother  impatiently. 

"Couldn't  get  away  sooner,  George ;  here's  the  money  for 
the  sheep,  £13,  los. ;  no  offer  for  the  cow,  Jem  is  driving  her 
home." 

"Well,  but  the  money— the  £80,  Will  ?" 

William  looked  sulkily  down. 

"I  haven't  got  it,  George ! — there's  your  draft  again,  the 
bank  wouldn't  take  it." 

A  keen  pang  shot  across  George's  face,  as  much  for  the 
affront  as  the  disappointment. 

"They  wouldn't  take  it?"  gasped  he.  "Ay,  Will,  our  credit 
is  down,  the  whole  town  knows  our  rent  is  overdue.  I  sup- 
pose you  know  money  must  be  got  some  way." 

"Any  way  is  better  than  threshing  out  new  wheat  at  such  a 
price,"  said  William  sullenly.     "Ask  a  loan  of  a  neighbour." 

"Oh,  Will,"  appealed  George,  "to  ask  a  loan  of  a  neigh- 
bour, and  be  denied — it  is  bitterer  than  death.  You  can 
do  it." 

"I ! — am  I  master  here  ?"  retorted  the  younger.  "The  farm 
is  not  farmed  my  way,  nor  ever  was.  No ! — give  me  the 
plough-handle  and  I'll  cut  the  furrow,  George." 

"No  doubt !  no  doubt !"  said  the  other,  verv  sharplv,  "vou'd 

16 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

like  to  draw  the  land  dry  with  potato  crops,  and  have  four- 
score hogs  snoring  in  the  farmyard :  that's  your  idea  of  a 
farm.  Oh !  I  know  you  want  to  be  elder  brother.  Well.  I 
tell'ee  what  do ;  you  kill  me  first,  Bill  Fielding,  and  then  you 
will  be  elder  brother,  and  not  afore." 

Here  was  a  pretty  little  burst  of  temper !  We  have  all  our 
sore  part. 

"So  be  it,  George !"  replied  William ;  "you  got  us  into  the 
mud,  elder  brother,  you  get  us  out  of  the  mire !" 

George  subdued  his  tone  directly. 

"Who  shall  I  ask?"  said  he,  as  one  addressing  a  bosom 
counsellor. 

"Uncle  Merton,  or — or — Mr.  Meadows  the  corn-factor  ;  he 
lends  money  at  times  to  friends.  It  would  not  be  much  to 
either  of  them." 

"Show  my  empty  pockets  to  Susanna's  father !  Oh,  Will ! 
how  can  you  be  so  cruel  ?" 

"Meadows,  then." 

"No  use  for  me.  I've  just  offended  him  a  bit ;  besides,  he's 
a  man  that  never  knew  trouble  or  ill-luck  in  his  life ;  they  are 
like  flints,  all  that  sort." 

"Well,  look  here,  I'm  pretty  well  with  Meadows.  I'll  ask 
him  if  you  will  try  uncle ;  the  first  that  meets  his  man  to 
begin." 

"That  sounds  fair,"  said  George,  "but  I  can't — well — ves," 
said  he,  suddenly  changing  his  mind.  "I  agree,"  said  he  with 
simple  cunning,  and  lowered  his  eyes ;  but  suddenly  raising 
them,  he  said  cheerfully,  "Why  you're  in  luck.  Bill,  here's 
your  man,"  and  he  shot  like  an  arrow  into  his  own  kitchen. 

"Confound  it,"  said  the  other,  fairly  caught. 

Meadows,  it  is  to  be  observed,  was  wandering  about  the 
premises  until  such  time  as  Robinson  should  return ;  and 
whilst  the  brothers  were  arguing,  he  had  been  in  the  barn, 
and  finding  old  Merton  there,  had  worked  still  higher  that 
prudent  man's  determination  to  break  off  matters  between  his 
daughter  and  the  farmer  of  "The  Grove." 

After  the  usual  salutations,  William  Fielding,  sore  against 
the  grain,  began — 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  here,  sir !  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

17 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

'T  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  Willum." 

"Well,  sir,  George  and  I  are  a  little  short  just  at  present; 
it  is  only  for  a  time,  and  George  says,  he  should  take  it  very 
kind,  if  you  would  lend  us  a  hundred  pound,  just  to  help  us 
over  the  stile." 

"Why,  Mr.  Willum,"  replied  Meadows,  "I  should  be  de- 
lighted, and  if  you  had  only  asked  me  yesterday,  I  could 
have  done  it  as  easy  as  stand  here ;  but  my  business  drinks 
a  deal  of  money,  Mr.  Willum,  and  I  laid  out  all  my  loose 
cash  yesterday;  but,  of  course,  it  is  of  no  consequence, — an- 
other time — good  morning,  Mr.  Wilkim." 

Away  sauntered  Meadows,  leaving  William  planted  there, 
as  the  French  say. 

George  ran  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"Well  ?" 

"He  says  he  has  got  no  money  loose." 

"He  is  a  liar!  he  paid  £1500  into  the  bank  yesterday,  and 
you  knew  it;  didn't  you  tell  him  so?" 

"No;  what  use?  A  man  that  lies  to  avoid  lending  won't 
fee  driven  to  lend." 

"You  don't  play  fair,"  retorted  George.  "You  could  have 
got  it  from  Meadows,  if  you  had  a  mind ;  but  you  want  to 
drive  your  poor  brother  against  his  sweetheart's  father ;  you 
are  false,  my  lad." 

"You  are  the  only  man  that  ever  said  so ;  and  you  durstn't 
say  it,  if  you  weren't  my  brother." 

"If  it  wasn't  for  that,  I'd  say  a  deal  more." 

"Well,  show  your  high  stomach  to  uncle  Merton,  for  there 
he  is.  Hy ! — uncle !"  cried  William  to  Merton,  who  turned 
instantly  and  came  towards  them.  "George  wants  to  speak 
to  you,"  said  WilHam,  and  shot  like  a  cross-bow  behind  the 
house. 

"That  is  lucky,"  said  Merton,  "for  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Who  would  have  thought  of  his  being  about?"  muttered 
George. 

While  George  was  calling  up  his  courage  and  wits  to  open 
his  subject,  Mr.  Merton,  who  had  no  such  difficulties,  was 
beforehand  with  him. 

"You  are  threshing  out  new  wheat  ?"  said  Merton  gravely. 

"Yes,"  answered  George,  looking  down. 

18 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"That  is  a  bad  look  out ;  a  farmer  has  no  business  to  go  to 
his  barn-door  for  his  rent." 

"Where  is  he  to  go,  then  ?  to  the  church  door,  and  ask  for 
a  miracle?" 

"No ;  to  his  ship-fold,  to  be  sure." 

"Ay !  you  can ;  you  have  got  grass  and  water  and  every- 
thing to  hand." 

"And  so  must  you,  young  man,  or  you'll  never  be  a  farmer. 
Now,  George,  I  must  speak  to  you  seriously"  (George 
winced).  "You  are  a  fine  lad,  and  I  like  you  very  well,  but  I 
love  my  own  daughter  better." 

"So  do  I,"  said  George  simply. 

"And  I  must  look  out  for  her,"  resumed  Merton.  "I  have 
seen  a  pretty  while  how  things  are  going  here,  and  if  she 
marries  you  she  will  have  to  keep  you  instead  of  you  her." 

"Heaven  forbid !     Matters  are  not  so  bad  as  that,  uncle." 

"You  are  too  much  of  a  man,  I  hope,"  continued  Merton, 
"to  eat  a  woman's  bread ;  and  if  you  are  not,  I  am  man 
enough  to  keep  the  girl  from  it." 

"These  are  hard  words  to  bear,"  gasped  George.  "So  near 
my  own  house.,  old  man." 

"Well,  plain  speaking  is  best  when  the  mind  is  made  up," 
was  the  reply. 

"Is  this  from  Susanna,  as  well  as  you  ?"  said  George,  with  a 
trembling  lip,  and  scarce  able  to  utter  the  words. 

"Susan  is  an  obedient  daughter.  What  I  say  she'll  stand 
to ;  and  I  hope  you  know  better  than  to  tempt  her  to  disobey 
me ;  you  wouldn't  succeed." 

"Enough  said,"  answered  George,  very  sternly.  "Enough 
said,  old  man ;  I've  no  need  to  tempt  any  girl." 

"Good-morning,   George !"  and   away  stumped   Merton. 

"Good-morning,  uncle!  (ungrateful  old  thief)." 

"William,"  cried  he,  to  his  brother,  who  came  the  next 
minute  to  hear  the  news,  "our  mother  took  him  out  of  the 
dirt — I  have  heard  her  say  as  much — or  he'd  not  have  a  ship- 
fold  to  brag  of.     Oh  !  my  heart— oh  !  Will !" 

"Well,  will  he  lend  the  money?" 

"I  never  asked  him." 

"You  never  asked  him  !"  cried  William. 

"Bill,  he  began  upon  me  in  a  moment."  said  George,  look- 

19 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ing  appealingly  into  his  brother's  face ;  "he  sees  we  are  going 
down  hill,  and  he  as  good  as  bade  me  think  no  more  of 
Susan." 

"Well,"  said  the  other  harshly,  "it  was  your  business  to 
own  the  truth,  and  ask  him  to  help  us  over  the  stile — he's  our 
own  blood." 

"You  want  to  let  me  down  lower  than  I  would  let  that 
Carlo  dog  of  yours.  You're  no  brother  of  mine,"  retorted 
George,  fiercely  and  bitterly. 

"A  bargain  is  a  bargain,"  replied  the  other  sullenly.  "I 
asked  Meadows,  and  he  said  No.  You  fell  talking  with  uncle 
about  Susan,  and  never  put  the  question  to  him  at  all.  Who 
is  the  false  one^  eh?" 

"If  vou  call  me  false,  I'll  knock  your  ugly  head  off,  sulky 
Bill."  ' 

"You're  false,  and  a  fool  into  the  bargain,  bragging 
George !" 

"What,  you  will  have  it  then?" 

"If  you  can  give  it  me." 

"Well,  if  it  is  to  be,"  said  George,  "I'll  give  you  something 
to  put  you  on  your  mettle :  the  best  man  shall  farm  'The 
Grove,'  and  the  other  shall  be  a  servant  on  it,  or  go  elsewhere, 
for  I  am  sick  of  this." 

"And  so  am  I !"  cried  William  hastily ;  "and  have  been 
any  time  this  two  years." 

They  tucked  up  their  sleeves  a  little,  shook  hands,  and  then 
retired  each  one  step,  and  began  to  fight. 

And  how  came  these  two  honest  men  to  forget  that  the 
blood  they  proposed  to  shed  was  thicker  than  water?  Was 
it  the  farm,  money,  agricultural  dissension,  temper?  They 
would  have  told  you  it  was,  and  perhaps  thought  it  was.  It 
was  Susanna  Merton ! 

The  secret  subtle  influence  of  jealousy  had  long  been  fer- 
menting, and  now  it  exploded  in  this  way  and  under  this 
disguise. 

Ah !  William  Fielding,  and  all  of  you,  "Beware  of  jealousy" 
— cursed  jealousy!  it  is  the  sultan  of  all  the  passions,  and  the 
Tartar  chief  of  all  the  crimes.  Other  passions  aflfect  the  char- 
acter; this  changes,  and,  if  good,  always  reverses  it!  Mind 
that,  reverses  it !  turns  honest  men  to  snakes,  and  doves  to 

20 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

vultures.  Horrible  unnatural  mixture  of  Love  with  Hate — 
you  poison  the  whole  mental  constitution — you  bandage  the 
judgment — you  crush  the  sense  of  right  and  wrong — you 
steel  the  bowels  of  compassion — you  madden  the  brain — you 
corrupt  the  heart — you  damn  the  soul. 

The  Fieldings,  then,  shook  hands  mechanically,  and  reced- 
ing each  a  step  began  to  spar. 

Each  of  these  farmers  fancied  himself  slightly  the  best 
man ;  but  they  both  knew  they  had  an  antagonist  with  whom 
it  would  not  do  to  make  the  least  mistake. 

They  therefore  sparred  and  feinted  with  war)'  eye  before 
they  ventured  to  close ;  George,  however,  the  more  impetuous, 
was  preparing  to  come  to  closer  quarters,  when  all  of  a  sud- 
den, to  the  other's  surprise,  he  dropped  his  hands  by  his  sides, 
and  turned  the  other  way  with  a  face  anything  but  warlike, 
fear  being  now  the  prominent  expression. 

William  followed  the  direction  of  his  eye,  and  then  William 
partook  of  his  brother's  uneasiness ;  however,  he  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  began  to  saunter  about,  in  a  circum- 
ference of  three  yards,  and  to  get  up  a  would-be-careless 
whistle,  while  George's  hands  became  dreadfully  in  his  way, 
so  he  washed  them  in  the  air. 

Whilst  they  were  employed  in  this  peaceful  pantomime  a 
beautiful  young  woman  glided  rapidly  between  the  brothers. 

Her  first  words  renewed  their  uneasiness. 

"What  is  this?"  cried  she  haughtily,  and  she  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  like  a  queen  rebuking  her  subjects. 

George  looked  at  William — William  had  nothing  ready. 

So  George  said,  with  some  hesitation,  but  in  a  mellifluous 
voice,  "William  was  showing  me — a  trick — he  learned  at  the 
fair — that  is  all,  Susan." 

"That  is  a  falsehood,  George,"  replied  the  lady,  "the  first 
you  ever  told  me" — (George  coloured) — "you  were  fighting, 
you  two  boys — I  saw  your  eyes  flash  !" 

The  rueful  wink  exchanged  by  the  combatants  at  this 
stroke  of  sagacity  was  truly  delicious. 

"Oh  fie !  oh  fie !  brothers  bv  one  mother  fighting — in  n 
Christian  land — within  a  stone's  throw  of  a  church,  where 
brotherly  love  is  preached  as  a  debt  we  owe  to  strangers,  let 
alone  our  own  blood." 

21 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"Yes !  it  is  a  sin,  Susan,"  said  William,  his  conscience  sud- 
denly illuminated.     "So  I  ask  your  pardon,  Susanna." 

"Oh !  it  wasn't  your  fault,  TU  be  bound,"  was  the  gracious 
reply.  ".What  a  ruffian  you  must  be,  George,  to  shed  your 
brother's  blood." 

"La !  Susan,"  said  George  with  a  doleful  whine,  "I  wasn't 
going  to  shed  the  beggar's  blood.  I  was  only  going  to  give 
him  a  hiding  for  his  impudence." 

"Or  take  one  for  your  own,"  replied  William  coolly. 

"That  is  more  likely,"  said  Susan.  "George,  take  Will- 
iam's hand :  take  it  this  instant,  I  say,"  cried  she  with  an  air 
imperative  and  impatient. 

"Well,  why  not?  don't  you  go  in  a  passion,  Susan,  about 
nothing,"  said  George  coaxingly. 

They  took  hands ;  she  made  them  hold  one  another  by  the 
hand,  which  they  did  with  both  their  heads  hanging- 
down.  "Whilst  I  speak  a  word  to  you  two,"  said  Susan 
Merton. 

"You  ought  both  to  go  on  your  knees,  and  thank  Provi- 
dence that  sent  me  here  to  prevent  so  great  a  crime ;  and  as 
for  you,  your  character  must  change  greatly,  George  Fielding, 
before  I  trust  myself  to  live  in  a  house  of  yours." 

"Is  all  the  blame  to  fall  on  my  head  ?"  said  George,  letting 
go  William's  hand  with  no  great  apparent  reluctance. 

"Of  course  it  is !  William  is  a  quiet  lad,  that  quarrels  with 
nobody ;  you  are  always  quarrelling ;  you  thrashed  our  carter 
last  Candlemas." 

"He  spoke  saucy  words  about  you." 

Susan,  smiling  inwardly,  made  her  face  as  repulsive  outside 
as  lay  in  her  power. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Susan ;  "your  time  was  come 
round  to  fight  and  be  a  ruffian,  and  so  it  was  to-day,  no 
doubt." 

"Ah !"  said  George  sorrowfully,  "it  is  always  poor  George 
that  does  all  the  wrong." 

"Oh !"  replied  the  lady,  an  arch  smile  playing  for  a  mo- 
ment about  her  lips,  "I  could  scold  William,  too,  if  you  think 
I  am  as  much  interested  in  his  conduct  and  behaviour  as  in 
yours." 

"No,  no!"  cried  George,  brightening  up,  "don't  think  to 

22 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

scold  anybody  but  me,  Susan ;  and  William,"  said  he,  sudden- 
ly and  frankly,  "I  ask  your  pardon." 

"No  more  about  it,  George,  if  you  please,"  answered  Will- 
iam, in  his  dogged  way. 

"Susan,"  said  George,  "you  don't  know  all  I  have  to  bear. 
My  heart  is  sore.  Susan  dear.  Uncle  twitted  me  not  an  hour 
ago  with  my  ill-luck,  and  almost  bade  me  to  speak  to  you  no 
more,  leastways  as  my  sweetheart ;  and  that  was  why  when 
William  came  at  me  on  the  top  of  such  a  blow,  it  was  more 
than  I  could  bear ;  and  Susan — Susan — unci  ^  said  you  would 
stand  to  whatever  he  said." 

"George,"  said  Susan  gently,  "I  am  very  sorry  my  father 
was  so  unkind." 

"Thank  ye  kindly,  Susan ;  that  is  the  first  drop  of  dew  that 
has  fallen  on  me  to-day." 

"But  obedience  to  parents,"  continued  Susan,  interrogating 
as  it  were  her  conscience,  "is  a  great  duty.  I  hope  I  shall 
never  disobey  my  father,"  faltered  she. 

"Oh!"  answered  the  goose  George  hastily,  "I  don't  want 
any  girl  to  be  kind  to  me  that  does  not  love  me ;  I  am  so  un- 
lucky, it  would  not  be  worth  her  while,  you  know." 

At  this  Susan  answered  still  more  sharply.  "No,  I  don't 
think  it  would  be  worth  any  woman's  while,  till  your  charac- 
ter and  temper  undergo  a  change." 

George  never  answered  a  word,  but  went  and  leaned  his 
head  upon  the  side  of  a  cart  that  stood  half  in  and  half  out 
of  a  shed  close  by. 

At  this  juncture  a  gay  personage  joined  the  party.  He  had 
a  ball  waistcoat,  an  alarming  tie,  a  shooting  jacket,  wet 
muddy  trousers  and  shoes,  and  an  empty  basket  on  his  back. 

He  joined  our  group,  just  as  George  was  saying  to  himself 
very  sadly,  "I  am  in  everybody's  way  here" — and  he  attacked 
him  directly. 

"Everybody  is  in  this  country." 

The  reader  is  to  understand  that  this  Robinson  was  last 
from  California ;  and  California  had  made  such  an  impression 
upon  him,  that  he  turned  the  conversation  that  way  oftener 
than  a  well-regulated  understanding  recurs  to  any  one  topic, 
except  perhaps  religion. 

He  was  always  pestering  George  to  go  to  California  with 

23 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

him,  and  it  must  be  owned  that  on  this  one  occasion  George 
had  given  him  a  fair  handle. 

"Come  out  of  it,"  continued  Robinson,  "and  make  your 
fortune." 

"You  did  not  make  yours  there,"  said  Susan  sharply. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  miss.  I  made  it,  or  how  could  I  have 
spent  it  ?" 

"No  doubt,"  said  William ;  "what  comes  by  the  wind  goes 
by  the  water." 

"Alluding  to  the  dust  ?"  inquired  the  Cockney. 

"Gold  dust  especially,"  retorted  Susan  Merton. 

Robinson  laughed.  "The  ladies  are  sharp,  even  in  Berk- 
shire," said  he. 

Mr.  Robinson  then  proceeded  to  disabuse  their  minds  about 
the  facility  of  gold. 

"A  crop  of  gold,"  said  he,  "does  not  come  by  the  wind  any 
more  than  a  crop  of  corn ;  it  comes  by  harder  digging  than 
your  potatoes  ever  saw,  and  harder  work  than  you  ever  did — 
oxen  and  horses  perspire  for  you.  Fielding  No.  2." 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  horse  or  an  ox  mow  an  acre  of  grass  or 
barley?"  retorted  William  dryly. 

"Don't  brag,"  replied  the  other;  "they'll  eat  all  you  can 
mow  and  never  say  a  word  about  it." 

This  repartee  was  so  suited  to  the  rustic  idea  of  wit,  that 
Robinson's  antagonists  laughed  heartily,  except  George. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?"  said  Robinson  sotto  voce, 
indicating  George. 

"Oh !  he  is  cross,  never  mind  him,"  replied  Susan  ostenta- 
tiously loud.     George  winced,  but  never  spoke  back  to  her. 

Robinson  then  proceeded  to  disabuse  the  rural  mind  of  the 
notion  that  gold  is  to  be  got  without  hard  toil  even  in  Califor- 
nia :  he  told  them  how  the  miners'  shirts  were  wet  through 
and  through  in  the  struggle  for  gold ;  he  told  them  how  the 
little  boys  demanded  a  dollar  a  piece  for  washing  these  same 
garments ;  and  how  the  miners  to  escape  this  extortion  sent 
their  linen  to  China  in  ships  on  Monday  morning,  and  China 
sent  them  back  on  Saturday,  only  it  was  Saturday  six  weeks. 

Next  Mr.  Robinson  proceeded  to  draw  a  parallel  between 
England  and  various  nations  on  the  other  side  of  the  At- 
lantic, not  at  all  complimentary  to  his  island  home ;  above  all, 

24 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

he  was  eloquent  on  the  superior  dignity  of  labour  in  new 
countries. 

*T  heard  one  of  your  clodhoppers  say  the  other  day,  'The 
squire  is  a  good  gentleman,  he  often  gives  me  a  day's  work.' 
Now  I  should  think  it  was  the  clodhopper  gave  the  gentle- 
man the  day's  work,  and  the  gentleman  gave  him  a  shilling 
for  it — and  made  five  by  it." 

William  Fielding  scratched  his  head :  this  was  a  new  view 
of  things  to  him,  but  there  seemed  to  be  something  in  it. 

"Ay !  rake  that  into  your  upper  soil,"  cried  our  republican 
orator;  then  collecting  into  one  his  scattered  items  of  argu- 
ment, he  invited  his  friend  George  to  take  his  muscle,  pluck, 
wind,  back-bone,  and  self,  out  of  this  miserable  country,  and 
come  where  the  best  man  has  a  chance  to  win. 

"Come,  George,"  he  cried,  "England  is  the  spot  if  you 
happen  to  be  married  to  a  Duke's  daughter,  and  got  fifty 
thousand  a  year  and  three  houses. 

"And  a  coach. 

"And  a  brougham. 

"And  a  curricle. 

"And  ten  brace  of  pointers. 

"And  a  telescope  so  big  the  stars  must  move  to  it,  instead 
of  it  to  the  stars. 

"And  no  end  of  pretty  housemaids. 

"And  a  butler  with  a  poultice  round  his  neck  and  whiskers 
like  a  mop-head. 

"And  a  silver  tub  full  of  rose-water  to  sit  in  and  read  the 
Morning  Post. 

"And  a  green-house  full  of  peaches — and  green  peas  all  the 
year  round. 

"And  a  pew  in  the  church  warmed  with  biling  eau-de- 
Cologne. 

"And  a  carpet  a  foot  thick. 

"And  a  pianoforte  in  every  blessed  room  in  the  house.  But 
this  island  is  the  Dead  Sea  to  a  poor  man." 

He  then,  diverging  from  the  rhetorical  to  the  metropolitan 
style,  proposed  to  his  friend  "to  open  one  eye :  that  will  show 
you  this  hole  you  are  in  is  all  poor  hungry  arable  ground. 
You  know  you  can't  work  it  to  a  profit."  (George  winced.) 
"No !  steal,  borrow,  or  beg  i.soo.     Carry  out  a  cargo  of  pea- 

25 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

jackets  and  fourpenny  bits  to  swap  for  gold-dust,  a  few  tools, 
a  stout  heart,  and  a  light  pair  of — 'Oh,  no,  we  never  mention 
them,  their  name  is  never  heard' — and  we'll  soon  fill  both 
pockets  with  the  shiney  in  California." 

All  this  Mr.  Robinson  delivered  with  a  volubility  to  which 
Berkshire  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 

"A  crust  of  bread  in  England  before  Buffalo  beef  in  Cali- 
fornia," was  George's  reply ;  but  it  was  not  given  in  that 
assured  tone  with  which  he  would  have  laughed  at  Robin- 
son's eloquence  a  week  ago. 

"I  could  not  live  with  all  those  thieves  and  ruffians  that  are 
settled  down  there  like  crows  on  a  dead  horse ;  but  I  thank 
you  kindly,  my  lad,  all  the  same,"  said  the  tender-hearted 
young  man. 

"Strange,"  thought  he,  "that  so  many  should  sing  me  the 
same  tune."  and  he  fell  back  into  his  reverie. 

Here  they  were  all  summoned  to  dinner,  with  a  dash  of 
asperity,  by  Sarah,  the  stout  farm-servant. 

Susan  lingered  an  instant  to  speak  to  George :  she  chose  an 
unfortunate  topic.  She  warned  him  once  more  against  Mr. 
Robinson. 

"My  father  says  that  he  has  no  business  nor  trade,  and  he 
is  not  a  gentleman,  in  spite  of  his  red  and  green  cravat,  so  he 
must  be  a  rogue  of  some  sort." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  his  greatest  fault?"  was  the  bitter  reply. 
"He  is  my  friend ;  he  is  the  only  creature  that  has  spoken 
kind  words  to  me  to-day.  Oh !  I  saw  how  cross  you  looked 
at  him." 

Susan's  eyes  flashed,  and  the  colour  rose  in  her  cheek,  and 
the  water  in  her  eyes. 

"You  are  a  fool,  George."  said  she ;  "you  don't  know  how 
to  read  a  woman,  nor  her  looks,  nor  her  words  either." 

And  Susan  was  very  angry  and  disdainful,  and  did  not 
speak  to  George  all  dinner-time. 

As  for  poor  George,  he  followed  her  into  the  house  with  a 
heart  both  sick  and  heavy. 

This  Berkshire  farmer  had  a  proud  and  sensitive  nature 
under  a  homely  crust. 

Old  Merton's  words  had  been  iron  passing  through  his 
soul,  and  besides,  he  felt  as  if  everything  was  turning  cold 

26 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

and  slippery,  and  gliding  from  his  hand.  He  shivered  with 
vague  fears,  and  wished  the  sun  would  set  at  one  o'clock  and 
the  sorrowful  day  come  to  an  end. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  meal  passed  almost  in  silence;  Robinson  was  too 
hungry  to  say  a  word,  and  a  weight  hung  upon  George 
and    Susan, 

As  they  were  about  to  rise,  William  observed  two  men  in 
the  farm-yard  who  were  strangers  to  him — the  men  seemed 
to  be  inspecting  the  hogs.  It  struck  him  as  rather  cool ;  but 
apparently  the  pig  is  an  animal  which  to  be  prized  needs  but 
to  be  known,  for  all  connoisseurs  of  him  are  also  enthusiastic 
amateurs. 

When  I  say  the  pig  I  mean  the  four-legged  one. 

William  Fielding,  partly  from  curiosity  to  hear  these  stran- 
gers' remarks,  partly  hoping  to  find  customers  in  them, 
strolled  into  the  farm-yard  before  his  companions  rose  from 
the  table. 

The  others,  looking  carelessly  out  of  the  window,  saw 
William  join  the  two  men  and  enter  into  conversation  with 
them ;  but  their  attention  was  almost  immediately  diverted 
from  that  group  by  the  entrance  of  Meadows.  He  came  in 
radiant ;  his  face  was  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the  rest  of  the 
party. 

Susan  could  not  help  noticing  it. 

"Why,  Mr.  Meadows,"  cried  she,  "you  look  as  bright  as 
a  May  morning ;  it  is  quite  refreshing  to  see  you ;  we  are  all 
rather  down  here  this  morning." 

Meadows  said  nothing,  and  did  not  seem  at  his  ease  under 
this  remark. 

George  rose  from  the  table ;  so  did  Susan  ;  Robinson  merely 
pushed  back  his  chair,  and  gave  a  comfortable  little  sigh,  but 
the  next  moment  he  cried  "Hallo !" 

They  looked  up,  and  there  was  William's  face  close  against 
the  window. 

William's  face  was  remarkably  pale,  and  first  he  tried  to 

27 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

attract  George's  attention  without  speaking,  but  finding  him- 
self observed  by  the  whole  party,  he  spoke  out. 

"George,  will  you  speak  a  word?"  said  he. 

George  rose  and  went  out ;  but  Susan's  curiosity  was  awak- 
ened, and  she  followed  him,  accompanied  by  Meadows. 

"None  but  you,  George,"  said  William,  with  a  voice  half 
stern,  half  quivering. 

George  looked  at  his  brother. 

"Out  with  it,"  cried  he,  "it  is  some  deadly  ill-luck ;  I  have 
felt  it  coming  all  day,  but  out  with  it ;  what  can't  I  bear  after 
.the  words  I  have  borne  this  morning?" 

William  hung  his  head. 

"George,  there  is  a  distress  vipon  the  farm  for  the  rent." 

George  did  not  speak  at  first,  he  literally  staggered  under 
these  words ;  his  proud  spirit  writhed  in  his  countenance,  and 
with  a  groan,  he  turned  his  back  abruptly  upon  them  all.  and 
hid  his  face  against  the  corner  of  his  own  house,  the  cold, 
hard  bricks. 

Meadows,  by  strong  self-command,  contrived  not  to  move 
a  muscle  of  his  face. 

Up  to  this  day  and  hour,  Susan  Merton  had  always  seenf^ed 
cool,  compared  with  her  lover;  she  used  to  treat  him  a  little 
de  haut  en  has. 

But  when  she  saw  his  shame  and  despair,  she  was  much 
distressed. 

"George,  George !"  she  cried,  "don't  do  so :  can  nothing  be 
done  ?  Where  is  my  father  ? — they  told  me  he  was  here  :  he 
is  rich,  he  shall  help  you."  She  darted  from  them  in  search 
of  Merton ;  ere  she  could  turn  the  angle  of  the  house  he 
met  her. 

"You  had  better  go  home,  my  girl,"  said  he  gravely. 

"Oh  !  no !  no !  I  have  been  too  unkind  to  George  already," 
and  she  turned  towards  him  like  a  pitying  angel,  with  hands 
extended  as  if  they  would  bring  balm  to  a  hurt  soul. 

Meadows  left  chuckling,  and  was  red  and  white  by  turns. 

Merton  was  one  of  those  friends  one  may  make  sure  of 
finding  in  adversity. 

"There,"  cried  he,  "George,  I  told  you  how  it  would  end." 

George  wheeled  round  on  him  like  lightning. 

"What,  do  vou  come  here  to  insult  over  me?     T  must  be  a. 

28 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

long  way  lower  than  I  am.  before  I  shall  be  as  low  as  you 
were  when  my  mother  took  you  up  and  made  a  man  of 
you." 

"George,  George!"  cried  Susan  in  dismay;  "stop,  for  pity's 
sake,  before  you  say  words  that  will  separate  us  for  ever. 
Father,"  cried  the  peace-making  angel,  "how  can  you  push 
poor  George  so  hard  and  him  in  trouble !  and  we  have  all  been 
too  unkind  to  him  to-day." 

Ere  either  could  answer,  there  was  happily  another  inter- 
ruption. A  smart  servant  in  livery  walked  up  to  them  with  a 
letter.  With  the  instinctive  feeling  of  class  they  all  endeav- 
oured to  conceal  their  agitation  from  the  gentleman's  servant. 
He  handed  George  the  note,  and  saying,  "I  was  to  wait  for 
an  answer,  Farmer  Fielding,"  sauntered  towards  the  farm 
stables. 

"From  Mr.  Winchester,"  said  George,  after  a  long  and 
careful  inspection  of  the  outside. 

In  the  country  it  is  a  point  of  honour  to  find  out  the  writer 
of  a  letter  by  the  direction,  not  the  signature. 

"The  Honourable.  Francis  Winchester !  What  does  he 
write  to  you?"  cried  Merton,  in  a  tone  of  great  surprise. 
This,  too,  was  not  lost  on  George. 

Human  nature  is  human  nature  :  he  was  not  sorry  to  be  able 
to  read  a  gentleman's  letter  in  the  face  of  one  who  had  bit- 
terly reproached  him,  and  of  others  who  had  seen  him  morti- 
fied and  struck  down. 

"Seems  so,"  said  George,  drily  and  with  a  glance  of  defi- 
ance; and  he  read  out  the  letter. 

"George  Fielding,  my  fine  fellow,  think  of  it  again :  I  have 
two  berths  in  the  ship  that  sails  from  Southampton  to-mor- 
row, you  will  have  every  comfort  on  the  voyage,  a  great 
point.  I  will  do  what  I  said  for  you"  ("he  promised  me  five 
hundred  sheep  and  a  run").  "I  must  have  an  honest  man, 
and  where  can  I  find  as  honest  a  man  as  George  Fielding?" 
— ("Thank  you,  Mr.  Winchester,  George  Fielding  thanks 
you,  sir.")  And  there  was  something  noble  and  simple  in  the 
way  the  young  farmer  drew  himself  up,  and  looked  fearlessly 
in  all  his  companions'  eyes. 

"You  saved  my  life — I  can  do  nothing  for  you  here — and 
you  are  doing  no  good  at  'The  Grove' — everybody  says  so" — 

29 


11    IS    NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

("everybody  says  so!"  and  George  Fielding  winced  at  the 
words.) 

"And  it  really  pains  me,  my  brave  fellow,  to  go  without 
you  where  1  know  I  could  put  you  on  the  way  of  fortune : 
my  heart  is  pretty  stout ;  but  home  is  home ;  and  be  assured 
that  I  wait  with  some  anxiety  to  know  whether  my  eyes  are 
to  look  on  nothing  but  water  for  the  next  four  months,  or  are 
to  be  cheered  by  the  sight  of  something  from  home,  the  face 
of  a  thorough-bred  English  yeoman,  and — a  friend — and — 
and " 

Poor  George  could  read  no  more,  the  kind  words  coming 
after  his  affronts  and  troubles  brought  his  heart  to  his  mouth. 

Susan  took  the  letter  from  him,  and  read  out — 

"And  an  upright,  downright  honest  man" — "And  so  you 
ARE^  George  !"  cried  she  warmly,  drawing  to  George's  side, 
and  darting  glances  of  defiance  vaguely  around.  Then  she 
continued  to  read — 

"If  the  answer  is  favourable,  a  word  is  enough :  meet  me 
at  'The  Crown,'  in  Newborough  to-night,  and  we  will  go  up 
to  Town  by  the  mail  train." 

"The  answer  is.  Yes,"  said  George  to  the  servant,  who  was 
at  some  distance. 

Susan,  bending  over  the  letter,  heard,  but  could  not  realise 
the  word,  but  the  servant  now  came  nearer :  George  said  to 
him,  "Tell  your  master.  Yes." 

"Yes?  George!"  cried  Susan,  "what  do  you  mean  by  yes? 
It  is  about  going  to  Australia." 

"The  answer  is,  Yes,"  said  George. 

The  servant  went  away  with  the  answer. 

The  others  remained  motionless. 

"This  nobleman's  son  respects  me  if  worse  folk  don't :  but 
it  is  not  the  great  bloodhounds  and  greyhounds  that  bark  at 
misfortune's  heels,  it  is  only  the  village  curs  when  all  is  done : 
this  is  my  path.  I'll  pack  up  my  things  and  go."  And  he 
did  not  look  at  Susan  or  any  of  them,  but  went  into  the  house 
like  a  man  walking  in  his  sleep. 

There  was  a  stupefied  pause. 

Then  Susan  gave  a  cry  like  a  wounded  deer. 

"Father!  what  have  you  done?" 

Merton  himself  had  been  staggered,  but  he  replied  stoutly — 

30 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"No  more  than  my  duty,  girl,  and  I  hope  you  will  do  no 
less  than  yours." 

At  this  moment,  Robinson  threw  up  the  window  and 
jumped  out  into  the  yard. 

Meadows  under  stronger  interests  had  forgotten  Robinson ; 
but  now  at  sight  of  him  he  looked  round,  and  catching  the 
eye  of  a  man  who  was  peering  over  the  farm-yard  wall,  made 
him  a  signal. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  Robinson. 

"George  is  going  to  Australia,"  replied  Merton  coldly. 

"Australia !"  roared  Robinson — "Au-stralia !  he's  mad  ;  who 
ever  goes  there  unless  they  are  forced  ? — He  shan't  go  there ! 
I  wouldn't  go  there  if  my  passage  was  paid,  and  a  new  suit 
of  clothes  given  me,  and  the  governor's  gig  to  take  me  ashore 
to  a  mansion  provided  for  my  reception,  fires  lighted,  beds 
aired,  and  pipes  laid  across  upon  the  table." 

As  Robinson  concluded  this  tirade  the  policeman  and  con- 
stable, who  had  crept  round  the  angle  of  the  farm-house, 
came  one  on  each  side,  put  each  a  hand  on  one  of  his  elbows 
and — took  him  ! 

He  looked  first  down  at  their  hands  in  turn,  then  up  at 
their  faces  in  turn,  and  when  he  saw  the  metropolitan's  face 
a  look  of  simple  disgust  diffused  itself  over  his  whole  counte- 
nance. 

"Ugh !  !  !"  interjected  Robinson. 

"Ay !"  replied  the  policeman,  while  putting  handcuffs  on 
him — "To  Australia  you'll  go  for  all  that,  Tom  Lyon,  alias 
Scott,  alias  Robinson,  and  you'll  have  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
mostly  one  colour,  and  voyage  paid,  and  a  large  house  ashore 
waiting  for  you,  and  the  governor's  gig  will  come  alongside 
for  you,  provided  they  can't  find  the  convict's  barge,"  and 
the  official  was  pleased  with  himself  and  his  wit  and  allowed 
it  to  appear. 

But  by  this  time  Robinson  was  on  his  balance  again.  "Gen- 
tlemen !"  answered  he.  with  cold  dignity.  "What  am  I  to 
understand  by  this  violence  from  persons  to  whom  I  am  an 
utter  stranger?"  and  he  might  have  set  for  the  picture  of 
injured  innocence.  "I  am  not  acquainted  with  you,  sir," 
added  he ;  "and  by  the  titles  you  give  me  it  seems  you  are 
not  acquainted  with  me." 

31 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  police  laughed,  and  took  out  of  this  injured  man's 
pocket  the  stolen  notes  which  Meadows  instantly  identified. 

Then  Mr.  Robinson  started  off  into  another  key  equally 
artistical  in  its  way. 

"Miss  Merton,"  snuffled  he,  "appearances  are  against  me, 
but  mark  my  word,  my  innocence  will  emerge  all  the  brighter 
'for  this  temporary  cloud." 

Susan  Merton  ran  in  doors,  saying,  "Oh !  I  must  tell 
George."  She  was  not  sorry  of  an  excuse  to  be  by  George's 
side,  and  remind  him  by  her  presence  that  if  home  had  its 
thorns  it  had  its  rose-tree  too. 

News  soon  spread;  rustic  heads  were  seen  peeping  over 
the  wall  to  see  the  finale  of  the  fine  gentleman  from  "Lun- 
nun  :"  meantime  the  constable  went  to  put  his  horse  in  a  four- 
wheel  chaise  destined  to  convey  Robinson  to  the  county  gaol. 

If  the  rural  population  expected  to  see  this  worthy  dis- 
composed by  so  sudden  a  change  of  fortune,  they  were  soon 
undeceived. 

"Well,  Jacobs,"  said  he,  with  sudden  familiarity,  "you 
seem  uncommon  pleased,  and  I  am  content.  I  would  rather 
have  gone  to  California ;  but  any  place  is  better  than  England. 
Laugh  those  who  win.  I  shall  breathe  a  delicious  climate ; 
you  will  make  yourself  as  happy  as  a  prince,  that  is  to  say, 
miserable,  upon  fifteen  shillings  and  two  colds  a  week ;  my 
sobriety  and  industry  will  realise  a  fortune  under  a  smiling 
sun :  let  chaps  that  never  saw  the  world,  and  the  beautiful 
countries  there  are  in  it,  snivel  at  leaving  this  island  of  fogs 
and  rocks  and  taxes  and  nobs,  the  rich  man's  paradise,  the 
poor  man's I  never  swear,  it's  vulgar." 

While  he  was  crushing  his  captors  with  his  eloquence, 
George  and  Susan  came  together  from  the  house;  George's 
face  betrayed  wonder  and  something  akin  to  horror. 

"A  thief!"  cried  he.    "Have  I  taken  the  hand  of  a  thief?" 

"It  is  a  business  like  any  other,"  said  Robinson  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"If  you  have  no  shame  I  have ;  I  long  to  be  gone  now." 

"George !"  whined  the  culprit,  who,  strange  to  say,  had 
become  attached  to  the  honest  young  farmer.  "Did  ever  I 
take  tithe  of  you?  You  have  got  a  silver  caudle  cup,  a 
heavenly  old  coffee-pot,  no  end  of  spoons  double  the  weight 

32 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

those  rogues  the  silversmiths  make  them  now ;  they  are  in 
a  box  under  your  bed  in  your  room,"  added  he,  looking  down  ; 
"count  them,  they  are  all  right ;  and  Miss  Merton,  your 
bracelet,  the  gold  one  with  the  cameo :  I  could  have  had  it  a 
hundred  times.  Miss  Merton.  ask  him  to  shake  hands  with 
me  at  parting.  I  am  so  fond  of  him,  and  perhaps  I  shall  never 
see  him  again." 

"Shake  hands  with  you  ?"  answered  George  sternly ;  "if 
your  hands  were  loose  I  doubt  I  should  ram  my  fist  down 
your  throat ;  but  there,  you  are  not  worth  a  thought  at  such  a 
time,  and  you  are  a  man  in  trouble,  and  I  am  another.  I  for- 
give you,  and  I  pray  Heaven  I  may  never  see  your  face 
again." 

And  Honesty  turned  his  back  in  Theft's  face. 

Robinson  bit  his  lips,  and  said  nothing,  but  his  eyes 
glistened;  just  then  a  little  boy  and  girl,  who  had  been  peer- 
ing about  mighty  curious,  took  courage  and  approached 
hand  in  hand.  The  girl  was  the  speaker,  as  a  matter  of 
course : 

"Farmer  Fielding,"  said  she,  curtsying,  a  mode  of  rever- 
ence which  was  instantly  copied  by  the  boy,  "we  are  come  to 
see  the  thief;  they  say  you  have  caught  one — Oh  dear!"  (and 
her  bright  little  countenance  was  overcast),  "I  couldn't  have 
told  it  from  a  man !" 

We  don't  know  all  that  is  in  the  hearts  of  the  wicked. 
Robinson  was  observed  to  change  colour  at  these  silly  words. 

"Mr.  Jacobs,"  said  he,  addressing  the  policeman,  "have 
you  authority  to  put  me  in  the  pillory  before  trial  ?"  He 
said  this  coldly  and  sternly ;  and  then  added,  "Perhaps  you 
are  aware  that  I  am  a  man,  and  I  might  say  a  brother,  for 
you  were  a  thief,  you  know !"  Then  changing  his  tone  en- 
tirely, "I  say,  Jacobs,"  said  he,  with  cheerful  briskness,  "do 
you  remember  cracking  the  silversmith's  shop  in  Lambeth 
along  with  Jem  SaHsbury  and  Black  George,  and ?" 

"There  the  gig  is  ready,"  cried  Mr.  Jacobs ;  "you  come 
along,"  and  the  ex-thief  pushed  the  thief  hastily  off  the 
premises  and  drove  him  away  with  speed. 

George  Fielding  gave  a  bitter  sigh :  this  was  a  fresh  morti- 
fication. He  had  for  the  last  two  months  been  defending 
Robinson  against  the  surmises  of  the  village. 

33 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Villagers  are  always  concluding  there  is  something  wrong 
about  people. 

"What  does  he  do?"  inquired  our  village. 

"Where  does  he  get  his  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  his 
tartan  waistcoat  and  green  satin  tie  with  red  ends  ?  We 
admit  all  this  looks  like  a  gentleman :  but  yet,  somehow,  a 
gentleman  is  a  horse  of  another  colour  than  this  Robinson." 

George  had  sometimes  laughed  at  all  this,  sometimes  been 
very  angry,  and  always  stood  up  stoutly  for  his  friend  and 
lodger. 

And  now  the  fools  are  right  and  he  was  wrong :  his  friend 
and  protege  was  handcuffed  before  his  eyes,  and  carried  off 
to  the  county  gaol  amidst  the  grins  and  stares  of  a  score  of 
gaping  rustics,  who  would  make  a  fine  story  of  it  this  even- 
ing in  both  public-houses ;  and  a  hundred  voices  would  echo 
some  such  conversational  Tristich  as  this — 

1st  Rustic.    "1  tawld  un  as  much,  dinn't  I  now,  Jarge?" 

2nd  Rustic.    "That  ye  did,  Richard,  for  I  heerd  ee." 

1st  Rustic.  "But,  la!  bless  ye,  he  don't  vally  advice,  he 
don't." 

George  Fielding  groaned  out,  "I'm  ready  to  go  now — I'm 
quite  ready  to  go — I  am  leaving  a  nest  of  insults ;"  and  he 
darted  into  the  house,  as  much  to  escape  the  people's  eyes  as 
to  finish  his  light  preparations  for  so  great  a  journey. 

Two  men  were  left  alone ;  sulky  William  and  respectable 
Meadows.  Both  these  men's  eyes  followed  George  into  the 
house  and  each  had  a  strong  emotion  they  were  bent  on  con- 
cealing, and  did  conceal  from  each  other ;  but  was  it  con- 
cealed from  all  the  world? 

The  farm-house  had  two  rooms  looking  upon  the  spot 
where  most  of  our  tale  has  passed. 

The  smaller  one  of  these  was  a  little  state  parlour,  seldom 
used  by  the  family.  Here  on  a  table  was  a  grand  old  folio 
Bible ;  the  names,  births,  and  deaths  of  a  century  of  Fieldings 
appeared  in  rustv  ink  and  various  handwritings  upon  its 
flyleaf. 

Framed  on  the  walls  were  the  first  savage  attempts  of 
woman  at  worsted-work  in  these  islands.  There  were  two 
moral  commonplaces,  and  there  was  the  forbidden  fruit-tree, 
whose  branches  diverged,  at  set  distances  like  the  radii  of  a 

34 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

circle,  from  its  stem,  a  perpendicular  line;  exactly  at  the  end 
of  each  branch  hung  one  forbidden  fruit — pre-Raphaelite 
worsted-work. 

There  were  also  two  prints  of  more  modern  date,  one  agri- 
cultural, one  manufactural. 

No.  I  was  a  great  show  of  farming  implements  at  Don- 
caster. 

No.  2  showed  how  one  day  in  the  history  of  man  and  of 
mutton  sheep  was  sheared,  her  wool  washed,  teased,  carded, 
&c.,  and  the  cloth  *'d  and  *'d  and  *'d  and  *'d,  and  a  coat 
shaped  and  sewed  and  buttoned  upon  a  goose,  whose  prep- 
arations for  inebriating  the  performers  and  spectators  of 
his  feat  appeared  in  a  prominent  part  of  the  picture. 

The  window  of  this  sunny  little  room  was  open,  and  on  the 
sill  was  a  row  of  flower-pots,  from  which  a  sweet  fresh  smell 
crept  with  the  passing  air  into  the  chamber. 

Behind  these  flower-pots  for  two  hours  past  had  crouched 
— all  eye  and  ear  and  mind — a  keen  old  man. 

To  Isaac  Levi  age  had  brought  vast  experience,  and  had 
not  yet  dimmed  any  one  of  his  senses.  More  than  forty-five 
years  ago  he  had  been  brought  to  see  that  men  seldom  act 
or  speak  so  as  to  influence  the  fortunes  of  others  without 
some  motive  of  their  own ;  and  that  these  motives  are  seldom 
the  motives  they  advance ;  and  that  their  real  motives  are  not 
always  known  to  themselves,  and  yet  can  nearly  always  be 
read  and  weighed  by  an  intelligent  bystander. 

So  for  near  half  a  century  Isaac  Levi  read  that  marvel- 
lous page  of  nature  written  on  black,  white,  and  red  parch- 
ments, and  called  "Man." 

One  result  of  his  perusal  was  this,  that  the  heads  of  human 
tribes  differ  far  more  than  their  hearts. 

The  passions  and  the  heart  he  had  found  intelligible  and 
much  the  same  from  Indus  to  the  Pole. 

The  people  of  our  tale  were  like  men  walking  together  in 
a  coppice ;  they  had  but  glimpses  of  each  other's  minds :  but 
to  Isaac  behind  his  flower-pots  they  were  a  little  human  chart 
spread  out  flat  before  him,  and  not  a  region  in  it  he  had  not 
travelled  and  surveyed  before  to-day :  what  to  others  passed 
for  accident  to  him  was  design ;  he  penetrated  more  than  one 
disguise  of  manner ;  and  above  all  his  intelligence  bored  like 

55 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

a  centre-bit  into  the  deep  heart  of  his  enemy  Meadows,  and 
at  each  turn  of  the  centre-bit  his  eye  flashed,  his  ear  hved, 
and  he  crouched  patient  as  a  cat,  keen  as  a  lynx. 

He  was  forgotten,  but  not  by  all. 

Meadows,  a  cautious  man,  was  the  one  to  ask  himself, 
"Where  is  that  old  heathen,  and  what  is  he  doing?" 

To  satisfy  himself,  Meadows  had  come  smoothly  to  the 
door  of  the  little  apartment,  and  burst  suddenly  into  it. 

There  he  found  the  reverend  Israelite  extended  on  a  little 
couch,  a  bandana  handkerchief  thrown  over  his  face,  calmly 
reposing. 

Meadows  paused,  eyed  him  keenly,  listened  to  his  gentle  but 
audible  equable  breathing,  relieved  his  mind  by  shaking  his 
fist  at  him,  and  went  out. 

Thirty  seconds  later,  Isaac  aivoke!  spat  in  the  direction  of 
Meadows,  and  crouched  again  behind  the  innocent  flowers, 
patient  as  a  cat,  keen  as  a  lynx. 

So  then ;  when  George  was  gone  in,  William  Fielding  and 
Mr.  Meadows  both  felt  a  sudden  need  of  being  alone;  each 
longed  to  indulge  some  feeling  he  did  not  care  the  other 
should  see ;  so  they  both  turned  their  faces  away  from  each 
other  and  strolled  apart. 

Isaac  Levi  caught  both  faces  ofif  their  guard,  and  read 
the  men  as  by  a  lightning  flash  to  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts. 

For  two  hours  he  had  followed  the  text,  word  by  word, 
deed  by  deed,  letter  by  letter,  and  now  a  comment  on  that 
text  was  written  in  these  faces. 

That  comment  said  that  William  was  rejoiced  at  George's 
departure  and  ashamed  of  himself  for  the  feeling. 

That  Meadows  rejoiced  still  more  and  was  ashamed  any- 
body should  know  he  had  the  feeling. 

Isaac  withdrew  from  his  lair,  his  task  was  done. 

"Those  men  both  love  that  woman,  and  this  Meadows  loves 
her  with  all  his  soul,  and  she — aha !"  and  triumph  flashed 
from  under  his  dark  brows.  But  at  his  age  calm  is  the  natural 
state  of  the  mind  and  spirits ;  he  composed  himself  for  the 
present,  and  awaited  an  opportunity  to  strike  his  enemy  with 
eflFect. 

The  aged  man  had  read  Mr.  Meadows  aright ;  under  that 

36 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

modulated  exterior  raged  as  deep  a  passion  as  ever  shook  a 
strong  nature. 

For  some  time  he. had  fought  against  it. 

"She  is  another  man's  sweetheart,"  he  had  said  to  him- 
self; "no  good  will  come  of  courting  her."  But  by  degrees 
the  flax  bonds  of  prudence  snapped  one  by  one  as  the  flame 
every  now  and  then  darted  at  them.  Meadows  began  to  rea- 
son the  matter  coolly. 

"They  can  never  marry,  those  two.  I  wish  they  would 
marry  or  break  off,  to  put  me  out  of  this  torture ;  but  they 
can't  marry,  and  my  sweet  Susan  is  wasting  her  prime  for 
nothing,  for  a  dream :  besides,  it  is  not  as  if  she  loved  him 
the  way  I  love  her.  She  is  like  many  a  young  maid :  the 
first  comer  gets  her  promise  before  she  knows  her  value. 
They  walk  together,  get  spoken  of;  she  settles  down  into  a 
groove,  and  so  goes  on,  whether  her  heart  is  in  it  or  not ; 
it  is  habit  more  than  anything." 

Then  he  watched  the  pair,  and  observed  that  Susan's  man- 
ner to  George  was  cool  and  off-hand,  and  that  she  did  not 
seem  to  seek  opportunities  of  being  alone  with  him. 

Having  got  so  far.  he  now  felt  it  his  duty  to  think  of  her 
interest. 

He  could  not  but  feel  that  he  was  a  great  match  for  any 
farmer's  daughter;  whereas,  "poor  young  Fielding,"  said  he 
compassionately,  "is  more  likely  to  break  as  a  bachelor  than 
to  support  a  wife  and  children  upon  'The  Grove.'  " 

He  next  allowed  his  mind  to  dwell  with  some  bitterness 
upon  the  poor  destiny  that  stood  between  him  and  the  wom- 
an he  loved. 

"George  Fielding!  a  dull  dog,  that  could  be  just  as  happy 
with  any  other  girl  as  with  my  angel.  An  oaf,  so  little  alive 
to  his  prize,  that  he  doesn't  even  see  he  has  rivals ;  doesn't 
see  that  his  brother  loves  her.  Ah !  but  I  see  that  though, 
lovers'  eyes  are  sharp :  doesn't  see  me,  who  mean  to  take  her 
from  both  these  Fieldings — and  what  harm?  It  isn't  as  if 
their  love  was  like  mine.  Heaven  forbid  I  should  meddle 
if  it  was.  A  few  weeks  and  a  few  mugs  of  ale  would  wash 
her  from  what  little  mind  either  of  them  have ;  but  I  never 
loved  a  woman  before,  and  never  could  look  at  another 
after  her." 

37 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

And  so,  by  degrees,  Meadows  saw  that  he  was  quite  justi- 
fied in  his  resolve  to  win  Susan  Merton,  provided  it  was  done 

FAIRLY. 

This  resolve  taken,  all  this  man's  words  and  actions  began 
to  be  coloured  more  or  less  by  his  secret  wishes ;  and  it  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  this  was  the  hand  which  was  gently 
but  adroitly,  with  a  touch  here  and  a  touch  there,  pushing 
George  Fielding  across  the  Ocean. 

You  see,  a  respectable  man  can  do  a  deal  of  mischief ;  more 
than  a  rogue  could. 

A  shrug  of  the  shoulders  from  Meadows  has  caused  the 
landlord  to  distrain. 

A  hint  from  Meadows  had  caused  Merton  to  affront  George 
about  Susan. 

A  tone  of  Meadows  had  closed  the  bank  cash-box  to  the 
Fieldings'  bill  of  exchange,  and  so  on :  and  now,  finding  it 
almost  impossible  to  contain  his  exultation,  for  George  once 
in  Australia  he  felt  he  could  soon  vanquish  Susan's  faint 
preference,  the  result  of  habit,  he  turned  ofif,  and  went  to 
meet  his  mare  at  the  gate ;  the  boy  had  just  returned  with 
her. 

He  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  but  ere  he  mounted,  it 
occurred  to  him  to  ask  one  of  the  farm-servants  whether  the 
old  Jew  was  gone. 

"I  sin  him  in  the  barn  just  now,"  was  the  reply. 

Meadows  took  his  foot  out  of  the  stirrup. 

Never  leave  an  enemy  behind  you,  was  one  of  his  rules. 
"And  why  does  the  old  heathen  stay?"  he  asked  himself; 
he  clenched  his  teeth,  and  vowed  he  would  not  leave  the  vil- 
lage till  George  Fielding  was  on  his  way  to  Australia. 

He  sent  his  mare  to  the  "Black  Horse,"  and  strolled  up 
the  village ;  then  he  showed  the  boy  a  shilling,  and  said, 
"You  be  sure  and  run  to  the  public-house  and  let  me  know 
when  George  Fielding  is  going  to  start — I  should  like  to 
see  the  last  of  him." 

This  was  true ! 


38 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER  III. 

AND  now  passed  over  "The  Grove"  the  heaviest  hours  it 
JTjL  had  ever  known ;  hours  as  weary  as  they  were  bitter  to 
George  Fielding.  "The  Grove"  was  nothing  to  him  now — 
in  mind  he  was  already  separated  from  it ;  his  clothes  were 
ready,  he  had  nothing  more  to  do,  and  he  wished  he  could 
fling  himself  this  moment  into  the  ship,  and  hide  his  head, 
and  sleep  and  forget  his  grief,  until  he  reached  the  land 
whose  fat  and  endless  pastures  were  to  make  him  rich  and 
send  him  home  a  fitter  match  for  Susan. 

As  the  moment  of  parting  drew  nearer  there  came  to  him 
that  tardy  consolation  which  often  comes  to  the  honest  man 
then  when  it  can  but  add  to  his  pangs  of  regret. 

Perhaps  no  man  is  good,  manly,  tender,  generous,  honest, 
and  unlucky  quite  in  vain ;  at  last,  when  such  a  man  is  leaving 
all  who  have  been  unjust  or  cold  to  him,  scales  fall  from  their 
eyes,  a  sense  of  his  value  flashes  like  lightning  across  their 
half-empty  skulls  and  tepid  hearts,  they  feel  and  express  some 
respect  and  regret,  and  make  him  sadder  to  leave  them ;  so 
did  the  neighbours  of  "The  Grove"  to  young  Fielding.  Some 
hands  gave  him  now  their  first  warm  pressure,  and  one  or 
two  voices  even  faltered  as  they  said  "God  bless  thee,  lad !" 

And  now  the  carter's  lad  ran  in  with  a  message  from  a 
farmer  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"Oh !  Master  George,  Farmer  Dodd  says  if  you  please  he 
couldn't  think  to  let  you  walk.  You  are  to  go  in  his  gig  to 
Newbury,  if  you'll  walk  up  as  fur  as  his  farm,  he's  afeard  to 
come  down  our  hill,  a  says  because  if  he  did,  his  mare 
'ud  kick  his  gig  into  toothpicks,  Jic  says.  Oh  !  Master  George, 
/  be  sorry  you  be  going,"  and  the  boy,  who  had  begun 
quite  cheerfully  ended  in  a  whimper. 

"I  thank  him!  Take  my  bag,  boy,  and  I'll  follow  in  half 
an  hour." 

Sarah  brought  out  the  bag  and  opened  it.  and  weeping 
bitterly,  put  into  it  a  bottle  with  her  name  on  a  bit  of  paper 
tied  around  the  neck,  to  remind  poor  George  he  was  not  for- 
gotten at  "The  Grove,"  and  then  she  gave  George  the  key 
and  went  sadly  in,  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

39 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

And  now  George  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  brother  William, 
and  said  to  him,  "William,  will  you  come  with  me,  if  you 
please?" 

"Ay,  George,  sure." 

They  went  through  the  farm-yard  side  by  side ;  neither 
spoke,  and  George  took  a  last  look  at  the  ricks,  and  he  paused, 
and  seemed  minded  to  speak,  but  he  did  not,  he  only  muttered 
"not  here."  Then  George  led  the  way  out  into  the  paddock, 
and  so  into  the  lane,  and  very  soon  they  saw  the  village 
church;  William  wondered  George  did  not  speak.  They 
passed  under  the  yew-tree  into  the  churchyard ;  William's 
heart  fluttered.  They  found  the  vicar's  cow  browsing  on 
the  graves ;  William  took  up  a  stone — George  put  out  his 
hand  not  to  let  him  hurt  her,  and  George  turned  her  gently 
into  the  lane — then  he  stepped  carefully  among  the  graves. 
William  followed  him,  nis  heart  fluttering  more  and  more 
with  vague  fears ;  William  knew  now  where  they  were  going, 
but  what  was  George  going  to  say  to  him  there?  his  heart 
beat  faint-like.     Bv  and  bv  the  brothers  came  to  this — 


40 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

The  grave  was  between  the  two  men — and  silence — both 
looked  down. 

George  whispered,  "Good-bye,  mother !  She  never  thought 
we  should  be  parted  this  way."  Then  he  turned  to  William, 
and  opened  his  mouth  to  say  something  more  to  him ;  doubt- 
less that  which  he  had  come  to  say,  but  apparently  it  was  too 
much  for  him.  I  think  he  feared  his  own  resolution.  He 
gasped,  and  with  a  heavy  sigh  led  the  way  home.  William 
walked  with  him,  not  knowing  what  to  think  or  do  or  say; 
at  last  he  muttered,  'T  wouldn't  go,  if  my  heart  was  here !" 

"I  shall  go.  Will,"  replied  George  rather  sternly,  as  it 
seemed. 

When  they  came  back  to  the  house  they  found  several  per- 
sons collected. 

Old  Fielding,  the  young  men's  grandfather,  was  there ; 
he  had  made  them  wheel  him  in  his  great  chair  out  into  the 
sun. 

Grandfather  Fielding  had  reached  the  last  stage  of  human 
existence.  He  was  92  years  of  age.  The  lines  in  his  face 
were  cordage,  his  aspect  was  stony  and  impassible,  and  he 
was  all  but  impervious  to  passing  events ;  his  thin  blood  had 
almost  ceased  to  circulate  in  his  extremities;  for  every  drop 
he  had  was  needed  to  keep  his  old  heart  a-beating  at  all,  in- 
stead of  stopping  like  a  clock  that  has  run  down. 

Meadows  had  returned  to  see  George  off,  and  old  Merton 
was  also  there,  and  he  was  one  of  those  whos2  hearts  gave 
them  a  bit  of  a  twinge. 

"George,"  said  he,  "I'm  vexed  for  speaking  unkind  to 
you  to-day  of  all  days  in  the  year ;  I  didn't  think  we  were  to 
part  so  soon,  lad." 

"No  more  about  it,  uncle,"  faltered  George ;  "what  does  it 
matter  now  ?" 

Susan  Merton  came  out  of  the  house ;  she  had  caught  her 
father's  conciliatory  words ;  she  seemed  composed,  but  pale ; 
she  threw  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck. 

"Oh !  father,"  said  she  imploringly,  "I  thought  it  was  a 
dream,  but  he  is  going,  he  is  really  going. — Oh !  don't  let  him 
go  from  us,  speak  him  fair,  father,  his  spirit  is  so  high !" 

"Susan !"  replied  the  old  farmer,  "mayhap  the  lad  thinks 
me  his  enemy,  but  I'm  not.     My  daughter  shall  not  marry  a 

41 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

bankrupt  farmer,  but  you  bring  home  a  thousand  pounds — 
just  one  thousand  pounds — to  show  me  you  are  not  a  fool, 
and  you  shall  have  my  daughter,  and  she  shall  have  my 
blessing." 

Meadows  exulted. 

"Your  hand  on  that,  uncle,"  cried  George,  with  ardour ; 
"your  hand  on  that  before  heaven  and  all  present." 

The  old  farmer  gave  George  his  hand  upon  it. 

"But,  father,"  cried  Susan,  "your  words  are  sending  him 
away  from  me." 

"Susan !"  said  George,  sorrowfully  but  firmly,  "I  am  to 
go;  but  don't  forget  it  is  for  your  sake  I  leave  you,  my 
darling  Susan — to  be  a  better  man  for  your  sake.  Uncle, 
since  your  last  words  there  is  no  ill  will,  but  (bluntly)  I  can't 
speak  my  heart  before  you." 

"I'll  go,  George,  I'll  go ;  shan't  be  said  my  sister's  son 
hadn't  leave  to  speak  his  mind  to  let  be  who  atool,^  at  such 
an  a  time." 

Merton  turned  to  leave  them,  but  ere  he  had  taken  two 
steps  a  most  unlooked-for  interruption  chained  him  to  the 
spot.  An  old  man,  with  a  long  beard  and  a  glittering  eye, 
was  amongst  them  before  they  were  aware  of  him ;  he  fixed 
his  eye  upon  Meadows,  and  spoke  a  single  word — but  that 
word  fell  like  a  sledge-hammer. 

"No ! !"  said  Isaac  Levi  in  the  midst, 

"No ! !"  repeated  he  to  John  Meadows. 

Meadows  understood  perfectly  what  "No"  meant;  a  veto 
upon  all  his  plans,  hopes,  and  wishes. 

"Young  man,"  said  Isaac  to  George,  "you  shall  not  wander 
forth  from  the  home  of  your  fathers.  These  old  eyes  see 
deeper  than  yours  (and  he  sent  an  eye-stab  at  Meadows)  ; 
you  are  honest — all  men  say  so — I  will  lend  you  the  money 
for  your  rent,  and  one  who  loves  you  (and  he  gave  another 
eye-stab  at  Meadows)  will  bless  me." 

"Oh!  yes,  I  bless  you."  cried  Susan  innocently. 

The  late  exulting  Meadows  was  benumbed  at  this. 

"Surely  heaven  sends  you  to  me,"  cried  Susan.  "It  is  Mr. 
Levi  of  Farnborough." 

Here  was  a  diversion:  Meadows  cursed  the  intruder,  and 

'Let  be  who  it  will  Cui  libst, 
42 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

his  own  evil  star  that  had  raised  him  up  so  mahgnant  an 
enemy. 

"All  my  web  undone  in  a  moment,"  thought  he,  and  despair 
began  to  take  possession  of  him. 

Susan,  on  the  other  hand,  was  all  joy  and  hope;  William 
more  or  less  despondent. 

The  old  Jew  glanced  from  one  to  another,  read  them  all, 
and  enjoyed  his  triumph. 

But  when  his  eye  returned  to  George  Fielding  he  met  with 
something  he  had  not  reckoned  upon. 

The  young  man  showed  no  joy,  no  emotion.  He  stood  im- 
movable, like  a  statue  of  a  man,  and,  when  he  opened  his 
lips,  it  was  like  a  statue  speaking  with  its  marble  mouth. 

"No !  Susan.  No  !  old  man.  I  am  honest,  though  I'm  poor 
— and  proud,  though  you  have  seen  me  put  to  shame  near  my 
own  homestead  more  than  once  to-day.  To  borrow  without 
a  chance  of  paying  is  next  door  to  stealing;  and  I  should 
never  pay  you.  My  eyes  are  opened  in  spite  of  my  heart.  I 
can't  farm  'The  Grove'  with  no  grass,  and  wheat  at  forty 
shillings.  I've  tried  all  I  know,  and  I  can't  do  it.  Will  there 
is  dying  to  try,  and  he  shall  try,  and  may  heaven  speed  his 
plough  better  than  it  has  poor  George's." 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  the  farm  now,  George,"  said  Will- 
iam. "I'm  thinking  of  when  we  were  boys,  and  used  to  play 
marbles — together — upon  the  tombstones."  And  he  faltered 
a  little. 

"Mr.  Levi !  seems  you  have  a  kindness  for  me :  show  it  to 
my  brother  when  I'm  away,  if  you  will  be  so  good." 

"Hum?"  said  Isaac  doubtfully.  "I  care  not  to  see  your 
stout  young  heart  give  way,  as  it  will.  Ah,  me !  I  can  pity 
the  wanderer  from  home.  I  will  speak  a  word  with  you,  and 
then  I  will  go  home." 

He  drew  George  aside,  and  made  him  a  secret  communi- 
cation. 

Merton  called  Susan  to  him,  and  made  her  promise  to  be 
prudent,  then  he  shook  hands  with  George,  and  went  away. 

Now  ^Meadows,  from  the  direction  of  Isaac's  glance,  and  a 
certain  half-surprised,  half-contemptuous  look  that  stole  over 
George's  face,  suspected  that  his  enemy,  whose  sagacity  he 
could  no  longer  doubt,  was  warning  George  against  him. 

43 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

This  made  him  feel  very  uneasy  where  he  was,  and  this 
respectable  man  dreaded  some  exposure  of  his  secret.  So  he 
said  hastily,  "I'll  go  along  with  you,  farmer,"  and  in  a  mo- 
ment was  by  Merton's  side,  as  that  worthy  stopped  to  open 
the  gate  that  led  out  of  George's  premises.  His  feelings  were 
anything  but  pleasant  when  George  called  to  him — 

"No,  sir !  stop.  You  are  as  good  a  witness  as  I  could 
choose  of  what  I  have  to  say.  Step  this  way  if  you  please, 
sir. 

Meadows  returned,  clenched  his  teeth,  and  prepared  for  the 
worst,  but  inwardly  he  cursed  his  uneasy  folly  in  staying 
here,  instead  of  riding  home  the  moment  George  had  said 
"Yes!"  to  Australia. 

George  now  looked  upon  the  ground  a  moment ;  and  there 
was  something  in  his  manner  that  arrested  the  attention  of 
all. 

Meadows  turned  hot  and  cold. 

"I  am  going — to  speak — to  my  brother,  Mr.  Meadows !" 
said  he,  syllable  by  syllable  to  Meadows  in  a  way  brimful  of 
meaning. 

"To  me,  George  ?"  said  William,  a  little  uneasy. 

"To  you!  Fall  back  a  bit."  (Some  rustics  were  encroach- 
ing upon  the  circle.)  "Fall  back,  if  you  please;  this  is  a 
family  matter." 

Isaac  Levi,  instead  of  going  quite  away,  seated  himself  on 
a  bench  outside  the  palings. 

It  was  now  William's  turn  to  flutter ;  he  said  however 
to  himself.  "It  is  about  the  farm ;  it  must  be  about  the 
farm." 

George  resumed.  "I've  often  had  it  on  my  mind  to  speak 
to  you,  but  I  was  ashamed,  now  that's  the  truth ;  but  now  I 
am  going  away  from  her  I  must  speak  out,  and  I  will — 
William !" 

"Yes,  George  ?" 

"You've  taken — a  fancy — to  my  Susan,  William!" 

At  these  words,  which,  though  they  had  cost  him  so  much 
to  say,  George  spoke  gravely  and  calmly  like  common  words, 
William  gave  one  startled  look  all  around,  then  buried  his 
face  directly  in  his  hands  in  a  paroxysm  of  shame. 

Susan,  who  was  looking  at  George,  remonstrated  loudly. 

44 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO   MEXD 

"How  can  you  be  so  silly,  George !  I  am  sure  that  is  the  last 
idea  poor  William " 

George  drew  her  attention  to  William  by  a  wave  of  the 
hand. 

She  held  her  tongue  in  a  moment,  and  turned  very  red, 
and  lowered  her  eyes  to  the  ground.  It  was  a  very  painful 
situation — to  none  more  than  Meadows,  who  was  waiting  his 
turn. 

George  continued:  "Oh,  it  is  not  to  reproach  you,  my 
poor  lad.  Who  could  be  near  her,  and  not  warm  to  her  ?  But 
she  is  my  lass.  Will,  and  no  other  man's.  It  is  three  years 
since  she  said  the  word.  And  though  it  was  my  hard  luck 
there  should  be  some  coolness  between  us  this  bitter  day,  she 
will  think  of  me  when  the  ocean  rolls  between  us,  if  no  villain 
undermines  me " 

"Villain !  George !"  groaned  William.  "That  is  a  word  I 
never  thought  to  hear  from  you." 

"That's  why  I  speak  in  time,"  said  George.  "I  do  suppose 
I  am  safe  against  villainy  here."  And  his  eye  swept  lightly 
over  both  the  men.  "Any  way,  it  shan't  be  a  mis-take  or  a 
jnw-understanding ;  it  shall  be  villainy  if  'tis  done.  Speak, 
Susanna  Merton,  and  speak  your  real  mind  once  for  all." 

"Oh !  George,"  cried  Susan,  fluttering  with  love ;  "you  shall 
not  go  in  doubt  of  me.  We  are  betrothed  this  three  years, 
and  I  never  regretted  my  choice  a  single  moment.  I  never 
saw,  I  never  shall  see,  the  man  I  could  bear  to  look  on  be- 
side you,  my  beautiful  George.  Take  my  ring  and  my 
promise,  George."  And  she  put  her  ring  on  his  little  finger 
and  kissed  his  hand.  "Whilst  you  are  true  to  me,  nothing 
but  death  shall  part  us  twain.  There  never  was  any  coolness 
between  us,  dear ;  you  only  thought  so.  You  don't  know 
what  fools  women  are ;  how  they  delight  to  tease  the  man 
they  love,  and  so  torment  themselves  ten  times  more.  I  al- 
ways loved  you,  but  never  as  I  do  to-day :  so  honest,  so 
proud,  so  unfortunate;  I  love  you.  I  honour  you,  I  adore 
you,  oh  !  my  love  ! — my  love  ! — my  love !" 

She  saw  but  George — she  thought  but  of  George — and  how 
to  soften  his  sorrow,  and  remove  his  doubts,  if  he  had  any. 
And  she  poured  out  these  words  of  love  with  her  whole  soul 
— with  blushes  and  tears  and  all  the  fire  of  a  chaste  and  pas- 

45 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND 

sionate  woman's  heart :  and  she  clung  to  her  love ;  and  her 
tender  bosom  heaved  against  his;  and  she  strained  him  with 
tears  and  sighs  to  her  bosom ;  and  he  kissed  her  beautiful 
head ;  and  his  suffering  heart  drew  warmth  from  this  heaven- 
ly contact. 

The  late  exultant  Meadows  turned  as  pale  as  ashes,  and 
trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"Do  you  hear,  William?"  said  George. 

"I  hear,  George,"  replied  William  in  an  iron  whisper,  with 
his  sullen  head  sunk  upon  his  breast. 

George  left  Susan,  and  came  between  her  and  William. 

"Then,  Susan,"  said  he  rather  loud,  "here  is  your  brother." 

William  winced. 

"William!  here  is  my  life!"  And  he  pointed  to  Susan. 
"Let  no  man  rob  me  of  it  if  one  mother  really  bore  us." 

It  went  through  William's  heart  like  a  burning  arrow.  And 
this  was  why  George  had_  taken  him  to  their  mother's  grave. 
That  flashed  across  him  too. 

The  poor  sulky  fellowjs  head  was  seen  to  rise  inch  by  inch 
till  he  held  it  as  erect  as  a  king's. 

"Never!"  he  cried,  half  shouting,  half  weeping.  "Never, 
s'help  me  God !  She's  my  sister  from  this  hour — no  more,  no 
less.  And  may  the  red  blight  fall  on  my  arm  and  my  heart, 
if  I  or  any  man  takes  her  from  you — any  man !"  he  cried,  his 
temples  flushing,  and  his  eye  glittering,  "sooner  than  a  hun- 
dred men  should  take  her  from  you  while  I  am  here  I'd  die 
at  their  feet  a  hundred  times." 

Well  done,  sullen  and  rugged  but  honest  man ;  the  capital 
temptation  of  your  life  is  wrestled  with  and  thrown.  That 
is  always  to  every  man  a  close,  a  deadly,  a  bitter  struggle ; 
and  we  must  all  wade  through  this  deep  water  at  one  hour  or 
another  of  our  lives :  it  is  as  surely  our  fate  as  it  is  one  day 
to  die. 

It  is  a  noble  sight  to  see  an  honest  man  "cleave  his  own 
heart  in  twain,  and  fling  away  the  baser  part  of  it."  These 
words,  that  burst  from  William's  better  heart,  knocked  at  his 
brother's,  you  may  be  sure.  He  came  to  William.  "I  be- 
lieve you,"  said  he ;  "I  trust  you,  I  thank  you."  Then  he  held 
out  his  hand ;  but  nature  would  have  more  than  that,  in  a  mo- 
ment his  arm  was  around  his  brother's  neck,  where  it  had  not 

46 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

been  this  many  a  year;  he  withdrew  it  as  quickly  half 
ashamed ;  and  Anne  Fielding's  two  sons  grasped  one  another's 
hands,  and  holding  hands  turned  away  their  heads  and  tried 
to  hide  their  eyes. 

They  are  stronger  than  bond,  deed,  or  indenture,  these 
fleshly  compacts  written  by  moist  eyes,  stamped  by  the  gripe 
of  eloquent  hand,  in  those  moments  full  of  soul  when  men's 
hearts  beat  from  their  bosoms  to  their  fingers'  ends. 

Isaac  Levi  came  to  the  brothers,  and  said  to  William, 
"Yes,  I  will  now,"  and  then  he  went  slowly  and  thought- 
fully away  to  his  own  house. 

"And  now,"  faltered  George,  "I  feel  strong  enough  to  go, 
and  I'll  go." 

He  looked  round  at  all  the  familiar  objects  he  was  leaving, 
as  if  to  bid  them  farewell ;  and  last,  whilst  every  eye  watched 
his  movements  he  walked  slowly  up  to  his  grandfather's  chair. 

"Grandfather,"  said  he,  "I  am  going  a  long  journey,  and 
mayhap  shall  never  see  you  again ;  speak  a  word  to  me  before 
I  go." 

The  impassive  old  man  took  no  notice,  so  Susan  came  to 
him.  "Grandfather,  speak  to  George ;  poor  George  is  going 
into  a  far  country." 

When  she  had  repeated  this  in  his  ear  their  grandfather 
looked  up  for  a  moment — "George,  fetch  me  some  snuff  from 
where  you're  going." 

A  spasm  crossed  George's  face ;  he  was  not  to  have  a  word 
of  good  omen  from  the  aged  man. 

"Friends,"  said  he,  looking  appealingly  to  all  the  rest. 
Meadows  included,  "I  wanted  him  to  say,  God  bless  you,  but 
snuff  is  all  his  thought  now.  Well,  old  man,  George  won't 
forget  your  last  word,  such  as  'tis." 

In  a  hutch  near  the  corner  of  the  house  was  William's 
pointer  Carlo.  Carlo  observing  by  the  general  movement  that 
there  was  something  on  foot,  had  the  curiosity  to  come  out 
to  the  end  of  his  chain,  and  as  he  stood  there,  giving  every 
now  and  then  a  little  uncertain  wag  of  his  tail,  George  took 
notice  of  him  and  came  to  him  and  patted  his  head. 

"Good-bye,  Carlo,"  faltered  George ;  "poor  Carlo — you  and 
I  shall  never  go  after  the  partridges  again.  Carlo :  the  dog 
shows  more  understanding  than  the  Christian ;  bye.  Carlo." 

47 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

Then  he  looked  wistfully  at  William's  dog,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing more. 

William  watched  every  look  of  George,  but  he  said  nothing 
at  the  time. 

"Good-bye,  little  village  church,  where  I  went  to  church 
man  and  boy ;  good-bye,  churchyard  where  my  mother  lies ; 
there  will  be  no  church  bells,  Susan,  where  I  am  going;  no 
Sunday  bells  to  remind  me  of  my  soul  and  home." 

These  words,  which  he  spoke  with  great  difficulty,  were 
hardly  out  of  young  Fielding's  month  when  a  very  painful 
circumstance  occurred;  one  of  those  things  that  seem  the 
contrivance  of  some  malignant  spirit.  The  church  bells  in  a 
moment  struck  up  their  very  merriest  peal ! 

George  Fielding  started,  he  turned  pale  and  his  lips 
trembled.  "Are  they  mocking  me  ?"  he  cried.  "Do  they  take 
a  thought  what  I  am  going  through  this  moment,  the  hard- 
hearted  " 

"No !  no !  no !"  cried  William ;  "don't  think  it,  George ;  I 
know  what  'tis— I'll  tell  ye." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Well,  it  is — well,  George,  it  is  Tom  Clarke  and  Esther 
Borgherst  married  to-day  :  only  they  couldn't  have  the  ringers 
till  the  afternoon." 

"Why,  Will,  they  have  only  kept  company  a  year^  and 
Susan  and  I  have  kept  company  three  years ;  and  Tom  and 
Esther  are  married  to-day;  and  what  are  George  and  Susan 
doing  to-day  ?  God  help  me !  Oh,  God  help  me !  What  shall 
I  do?  what  shall  I  do?"  And  the  stout  heart  gave  way,  and 
George  Fielding  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  burst 
out  sobbing  and  crying. 

Susan  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck — "Oh !  George,  my 
pride  is  all  gone ;  don't  go,  don't  think  to  go ;  have  pity  on  us 
both,  and  don't  go."  And  she  clung  to  him — her  bonnet 
fallen  off,  her  hair  dishevelled — and  they  sobbed  and  wept 
in  one  another's  arms. 

Meadows  writhed  with  the  jealous  anguish  this  sad  sight 
gave  him,  and  at  that  moment  he  could  have  cursed  the 
whole  creation.  He  tried  to  fly,  but  he  was  rooted  to  the 
spot.    He  leaned  sick  as  death  against  the  palings. 

George  and  Susan  cried  together,  and  then  they  wiped  one 

48 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

another's  eyes  like  simple  country  folk  with  one  pocket-hand- 
kerchief ;  and  then  they  kissed  one  another  in  turn,  and  made 
each  other's  tears  flow  fast  again ;  and  again  wiped  one  an- 
other's eyes  with  one  handkerchief. 

Meadows  griped  the  palings  convulsively — hell  was  in  his 
heart. 

"Poor  souls,  God  help  them !"  said  William  to  himself  in 
his  purified  heart. 

The  silence  their  sorrow  caused  all  around  was  suddenly 
invaded  by  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  another  world 
— it  was  Grandfather  Fielding.  "The  autumn  sun  is  not  so 
waarm  as  she  used  to  be !" 

Yes,  there  was  the  whole  map  of  humanity  on  that  little 
spot  in  the  county  of  Berks.  The  middle-aged  man,  a 
schemer,  watching  the  success  of  his  able  scheme,  and 
stunned  and  wounded  by  its  recoil.  And  old  age,  callous  to 
noble  pain,  all  alive  to  discomfort,  yet  man  to  the  last — 
blaming  any  one  but  Number  One,  cackling  against  heavenly 
bodies,  accusing  the  sun  and  the  kitchen-fire  of  frigidity — 
not  his  own  empty  veins !  And  the  two  poor  young  things 
sobbing  as  if  their  hearts  would  break  over  their  first  great 
earthly  sorrow. 

George  was  the  first  to  recover  himself.  "Shame  upon 
me!"  he  cried;  he  drew  Susan  to  his  bosom,  and  pressed  a 
long  burning  kiss  upon  her  brow. 

And  now  all  felt  the  wrench  was  coming.  George,  with  a 
wild  half -terrified  look,  signalled  William  to  come  to 
him. 

"Help  me,  Will !  you  see  I  have  no  more  manhood  than  a 
girl." 

Susan  instinctively  trembled.  George  once  more  pressed 
his  lips  to  her,  as  if  they  would  grow  there.  William  took 
her  hand.    She  trembled  more  and  more. 

"Take  my  hand ;  take  your  brother's  hand,  my  poor  lass," 
said  he. 

She  trembled  violently;  and  then  George  gave  a  cry  that 
seemed  to  tear  his  heart,  and  darted  from  them  in  a  moment. 

Poor  Susan  uttered  more  than  one  despairing  scream,  and 
stretched  out  both  her  hands  for  George.  He  did  not  see  her, 
for  he  dared  not  look  back. 

49 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Bob,  loose  the  dog,"  muttered  William  hastily,  in  a  broken 
voice. 

The  dog  was  loosed,  and  ran  after  George,  who,  he 
thought,  was  only  going  for  a  walk.  Susan  was  sinking 
pale  and  helpless  upon  her  brother's  bosom. 

"Pray,  sister,"  said  gentle  William ;  "pray,  sister,  as  I 
must." 

A  faint  shiver  was  all  the  answer;  her  senses  had  almost 
left  her. 

When  George  was  a  little  way  up  the  hill,  something  ran 
suddenly  against  his  legs — he  started — it  was  Carlo.  He 
turned,  and  lifted  up  his  hands  to  Heaven ;  and  William  could 
see  that  George  was  blessing  him  for  this.  Carlo  was  more 
than  a  dog  to  poor  George  at  that  cruel  moment.  Soon  after 
that,  George  and  Carlo  reached  the  crown  of  the  hill. 
George's  figure  stood  alone  a  moment  between  them  and  the 
sky.  He  was  seen  to  take  his  hat  off,  and  raise  his  hands 
once  more  to  Heaven,  whilst  he  looked  down  upon  all  he 
loved  and  left,  and  then  he  turned  his  sorrowful  face  again 
towards  that  distant  land — and  they  saw  him  no  more ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  world  is  full  of  trouble." 
While   we   are  young  we   do  not   see  how  true  this 
ancient  homely  saying  is. 

That  wonderful  dramatic  prologue,  the  first  chapter  of  Job, 
is  but  a  great  condensation  of  the  sorrows  that  fall  like  hail 
upon  many  a  mortal  house.  Job's  black  day,  like  the  day 
of  the  poetic  prophets — the  true  sacri  vates  of  the  ancient 
world —  is  a  type  of  a  year — a  bitter  human  year.  It  is  ter- 
rible how  quickly  a  human  landscape,  all  gilded  meadow, 
silver  river,  and  blue  sky,  can  cloud  and  darken, 

George  Fielding  had  compared  himself  this  very  day  to 
an  oak-tree :  "even  so  am  I  rooted  to  my  native  soil."  His 
fate  accepted  his  smile.  The  oak  of  centuries  yields  to  an 
impalpable  antagonist,  whose  very  name  stands  in  proverbs 
for  weakness  and  insignificance.  This  thin  light  trifle,  ren- 
dered impetuous  by  motion,  buffets  the  king  of  the  forest, 

50 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO   MEND 

tears  his  roots  with  fury  out  of  the  earth,  and  lays  his  tower- 
ing head  in  the  dust;  and  even  so  circumstances,  none  of 
them  singly  irresistible,  converging  to  one  point,  buffeted 
sore  another  oak  pride  of  our  fields,  and  for  aught  I  know 
of  our  whole  island — an  honest  English  yeoman ;  and  tore 
him  from  his  farm,  from  his  house  hard  by  his  mother's 
grave,  from  the  joy  of  his  heart  his  Susan,  and  sent  him,  who 
had  never  travelled  a  hundred  miles  in  his  life,  across  a  world 
of  waters  to  keep  sheep  at  the  Antipodes.  A  bereaved  and 
desolate  heart  went  with  Farmer  Dodd  in  the  gig  to  New- 
borough;  sad,  desolate,  and  stricken  hearts  remained  behind. 
When  tw^o  loving  hearts  are  torn  bleeding  asunder  it  is  a 
shade  better  to  be  the  one  that  is  driven  away  into  action, 
than  the  bereaved  twin  that  petrifies  at  home. 

The  bustle,  the  occupation,  the  active  annoyances,  are  some 
sort  of  bitter  distraction  to  the  unfathomable  grief — it  is  one 
little  shade  worse  to  lie  solitary  and  motionless  in  the  old 
scenes  from  which  the  sunlight  is  now  fled. 

It  needed  but  a  look  at  Susan  Merton  as  she  sat  moaning 
and  quivering  from  head  to  foot  in  George's  kitchen,  to  see 
that  she  was  in  no  condition  to  walk  back  to  Grassmere  Farm 
to-night. 

So  as  she  refused — almost  violently  refused — to  stay  at 
"The  Grove,"  William  harnessed  one  of  the  farm-horses  to  a 
cart  and  took  her  home  round  by  the  road. 

'Tt  is  six  miles  that  way  'stead  of  three,  but  then  we  shan't 
jolt  her  going  that  way,"  thought  William. 

He  walked  by  the  side  of  the  cart  in  silence. 

She  never  spoke  but  once  all  the  journey,  and  that  was 
about  half  way  to  complain  in  a  sort  of  hopeless,  pitiful  tone 
that  she  was  cold :  it  was  a  burning  afternoon. 

William  took  off  his  coat,  and  began  to  tie  it  round  her  by 
means  of  the  sleeves ;  Susan  made  a  little  silent,  peevish,  and 
not  very  rational  resistance;  William  tied  it  round  her  by 
brotherly  force. 

They  reached  her  home ;  when  she  got  out  of  the  cart  her 
eye  was  fixed,  her  cheek  white,  she  seemed  like  one  in  a 
dream. 

She  went  into  the  house  without  speaking  or  looking  at 
William.    William  was  sorry  she  did  not  speak  to  him ;  how- 

51 


.IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ever  he  stood  disconsolately  by  the  cart,  asking  himself  what 
he  could  do  next  for  her  and  George;  presently  he  heard  a 
slight  rustle,  and  it  was  Susan  coming  back  along  the  pas- 
sage: "She  has  left  something  in  the  cart,"  thought  he,  and 
he  began  to  look  in  the  straw. 

She  came  like  one  still  in  a  dream,  and  put  her  hand  out 
to  William,  and  it  appeared  that  was  what  she  had  come 
back  for. 

WilHam  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  bosom  a  mo- 
ment; at  this  Susan  gave  an  hysterical  sob  or  two,  and  crept 
away  again  to  her  own  room. 

What  she  suffered  in  that  room  the  first  month  after 
George's  departure  I  could  detail  perhaps  as  well  as  any  man 
living ;  but  I  will  not ;  there  is  a  degree  of  anguish  one  shirks 
from  intruding  upon  too  familiarly  in  person :  and  even  on 
paper  the  microscope  should  spare  sometimes  these  beatings 
of  the  bared  heart.  It  will  be  enough  if  I  indicate  by  and 
by  her  state,  after  time  and  religion  and  good  habits  had 
begun  to  struggle,  sometimes  gaining  sometimes  losing, 
against  the  tide  of  sorrow.  For  the  present  let  us  draw 
gently  back  and  leave  her,  for  she  is  bowed  to  the  earth — 
fallen  on  her  knees,  her  head  buried  in  the  curtains  of  her 
bed ;  dark,  faint,  and  leaden,  on  the  borders  of  despair — a 
word  often  lightly  used  through  ignorance.  Heaven  keep  us 
all  from  a  single  hour  here  or  hereafter  of  the  thing  the 
word  stands  for;  when  Heaven  comforts  all  true  and  loving 
hearts  that  read  me,  when  their  turn  shall  come  to  drain  the 
bitter  cup  like  Susan  Merton. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  moment  George  Fielding  was  out  of  sight,  Mr. 
Meadows  went  to  the  public-house,  flung  himself  on 
his  powerful  black  mare,  and  rode  homewards  without  a  word. 
One  strong  passion  after  another  swept  across  his  troubled 
mind.  He  burned  with  love,  he  was  sick  with  jealousy,  cold 
with  despondency,  and  for  the  first  time  smarted  with  re- 
morse.    George  Fielding  was  gone,  gone  of  his  own  accord ; 

52 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

but  like  the  flying  Parthian  he  had  shot  his  keenest  arrow 
in  the  moment  of  defeat. 

"What  the  better  am  I  ?"  thus  ran  this  man's  thoughts. 
"I  have  opened  my  own  eyes,  and  Susan  seems  farther  from 
me  than  ever  now — my  heart  is  Hke  a  lump  of  lead  here — I 
wish  I  had  never  been  born ; — so  much  for  scheming — I 
would  have  given  a  thousand  pounds  for  this,  and  now  I'd 
give  double  to  be  as  I  was  before ;  I  had  honest  hopes  then ; 
now  where  are  they?  How  lucky  it  seemed  all  to  go  too. 
Ah !  that  is  it — 'May  all  your  good  luck  turn  to  wormwood !' 
that  was  his  word — his  very  word — and  my  good  luck  is 
wormwood;  so  much  for  Hfting  a  hand  against  grey  hairs, 
Jew  or  Gentile.  Why  did  the  old  heathen  provoke  me 
then?  I'd  as  soon  die  as  live  this  day.  That's  right,  start 
at  a  handful  of  straw ;  lie  down  in  it  one  minute  and  tremble 
at  the  sight  of  it  the  next,  ye  idiot.  Oh,  Susan !  Susan — 
Why  do  I  think  of  her?  why  do  I  think  of  her?  She  loves 
that  man  with  every  fibre  of  her  body.  How  she  clung  to 
him !  how  she  grew  to  him !  And  I  stood  there  and  looked 
on  it,  and  did  not  kill  them  both.  Seen  it !  I  see  it  now,  it  is 
burnt  into  my  eyes  and  my  heart  for  ever,  I  am  in  hell ! — I 
am  in  hell ! — Hold  up,  you  blundering  fool ;  has  the  devil  got 
into  you  too  ?  Perdition  seize  him !  May  he  die  and  rot 
before  the  year's  out,  ten  thousand  ^iles  from  home !  may 

his  ship  sink  to  the  bottom  of  the .     What  right  have  I 

to  curse  the  man,  as  well  as  drive  him  across  sea?  Curse 
yourself,  John  Meadows.  They  are  true  lovers,  and  I  have 
parted  them,  and  looked  on  and  seen  their  tears.  Heaven 
pity  them  and  forgive  me.  So  he  knew  of  his  brother's  love 
for  her  after  all.  Why  didn't  he  speak  to  me  I  wonder,  as 
well  as  to  Will  Fielding?  The  old  Jew  warned  him  against 
me  I'll  swear.  Why  ?  why  because  you  are  a  respectable  man, 
John  Meadows,  and  he  thought  a  hint  was  enough  to  a  man 
of  character.  T  do  suppose  I  am  safe  from  villainy  here,' 
says  he.  That  lad  spared  me,  he  could  have  given  me  a  red 
face  before  them  all ;  now  if  there  are  angels  that  float  in  the 
air,  and  see  what  passes  amongst  us  sinners,  how  must  John 
Meadows  have  looked  beside  George  Fielding  that  moment? 
This  love  will  sink  my  soul !  I  can't  breathe  between  these 
hedges,  my  temples  are  bursting !    Oh !  you  want  to  gallop, 

53 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

do  you?  gallop  then,  and  faster  than  you  ever  did  since  you 
were  foaled — confound  ye !"  With  this  he  spurred  his  mare 
furiously  up  the  bank,  and  went  crushing  through  the  dead 
hedge  that  surmounted  it ;  he  struck  his  hat  at  the  same  mo- 
ment fiercely  from  his  head  (it  was  fast  by  a  black  ribbon  to 
his  button-hole),  and  as  they  lighted  by  a  descent  of  some  two 
feet  on  the  edge  of  a  grass-field  he  again  drove  his  spurs 
into  his  great  fiery  mare,  all  vein  and  bone.  Black  Rachel 
snorted  with  amazement  at  the  spur,  and  with  warlike  de- 
light at  finding  grass  beneath  her  feet  and  free  air  whistling 
round  her  ears ;  she  gave  one  gigantic  bound  like  a  buck  with 
arching  back  and  all  four  legs  in  the  air  at  once  (it  would 
have  unseated  many  a  rider,  but  never  moved  the  iron  Mead- 
ows), and  with  dilating  nostril  and  ears  laid  back  she  hurled 
herself  across  country  like  a  stone  from  a  sling. 

Meadows'  house  was  about  four  miles  and  a  half  distant 
as  the  crow  flies,  and  he  went  home  to-day  as  the  crow  flies, 
only  faster.  None  would  have  known  the  staid,  respectable 
Meadows,  in  this  figure,  that  came  flying  over  hedge  and 
ditch  and  brook,  his  hat  dangling  and  leaping  like  mad  be- 
hind him,  his  hand  now  and  then  clutching  his  breast,  his 
heart  tossed  like  a  boat  among  the  breakers,  his  lips  white, 
his  teeth  clenched,  and  his  eyes  blazing!  The  mare  took 
everything  in  her  stride,  but  at  last  they  came  somewhat 
suddenly  on  an  enormous  high  stifif  fence;  to  clear  it  was 
impossible ;  by  this  time  man  and  beast  were  equally  reckless ; 
they  went  straight  into  it  and  through  it  as  a  bullet  goes 
through  a  pane  of  glass ;  and  on  again  over  brook  and  fence, 
ploughed  field  and  meadow  till  Meadows  found  himself,  he 
scarce  knew  how.  at  his  own  door.  His  old  deaf  servant 
came  out  from  the  stableyard,  and  gazed  in  astonishment  at 
the  mare,  whose  flank  panted,  whose  tail  quivered,  whose 
back  looked  as  if  she  had  been  in  the  river,  while  her  belly 
was  stained  with  half  a  dozen  dififerent  kinds  of  soil,  and 
her  rider's  face  streamed  with  blood  from  a  dozen  scratches 
he  had  never  felt. 

Meadows  flung  himself  from  the  saddle,  and  ran  up  to  his 
own  room ;  he  dashed  his  face  and  his  burning  hands  into 
water :  this  seemed  to  do  him  a  little  good.  He  came  down 
stairs;  he  lighted  a  pipe;  (we  are  the  children  of  habit;)  he 

54 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

sat  with  his  eyebrows  painfully  bent ;  people  called  on  him, 
he  fiercely  refused  to  see  them. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  turned  his  back  on  business ; 
he  sat  for  hours  by  the  fireplace ;  a  fierce  mental  struggle 
wrenched  him  to  and  fro. 

Evening  came,  still  he  sat  collapsed  by  the  fireplace.  From 
his  window  among  other  objects  two  dwellings  were  visible; 
one  distant  four  miles  was  a  whitewashed  cottage,  tiled  in- 
stead of  thatched,  adorned  with  creepers  and  roses  and  very 
clean,  but  in  other  respects  little  superior  to  labourers'  cot- 
tages. 

The  other,  distant  six  long  miles,  was  the  Grassmere  farm- 
house, where  the  Mertons  lived ;  the  windows  seemed  bur- 
nished gold  this  evening. 

In  the  small  cottage  lived  a  plain  old  woman — a  Metho- 
dist ;  she  was  Meadows'  mother. 

She  did  not  admire  worldly  people,  still  less  envied  them. 

He  was  too  good  a  churchman  and  man  of  business  to  per- 
mit conventicles  or  psalm-singing  at  odd  hours  in  his  house. 
So  she  preferred  living  in  her  own,  which  moreover  was  her 
own — her  very  own. 

The  old  woman  never  spoke  of  her  son,  and  checked  all 
complaints  of  him,  and  snubbed  all  experimental  eulogies  of 
him. 

Meadows  never  spoke  of  his  mother;  paid  her  a  small  al- 
lowance with  the  regularity  and  affectionate  grace  of  clock- 
work; never  asked  her  if  she  didn't  want  any  more — would 
not  have  refused  her  if  she  had  asked  for  double. 

This  evening,  whilst  the  sun  was  shining  with  all  his  even- 
ing glory  on  Susan  Merton's  house,  Meadows  went  slowly 
to  his  window  and  pulled  down  the  blind ;  and  drawing  his 
breath  hard  shut  the  loved  prospect  out. 

He  then  laid  his  hand  upon  the  table,  and  he  said — "I 
swear,  by  the  holy  bread  and  wine  I  took  last  month,  that 
I  will  not  put  myself  in  the  way  of  this  strong  temptation. 
I  swear  I  will  go  no  more  to  Grassmere  Farm,  never  so  long 
as  I  love  Susan."  He  added  faintly,  "Unless  they  send  for 
me ;  and  they  won't  do  that,  and  I  won't  go  of  my  own 
accord.  I  swear  it.  I  have  sworn  it,  however,  and  I  swear  it 
again  unless  they  send  for  me !" 

55 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Then  he  sat  by  the  fire  with  his  head  in  his  hands — a  pos- 
ture he  never  was  seen  in  before;  next  he  wrote  a  note,  and 
sent  it  hastily  with  a  horse  and  cart  to  that  small  white- 
washed cottage. 

Old  Mrs.  Meadows  sat  in  her  doorway  reading  a  theologi- 
cal work,  called  "Believer's  Buttons."  She  took  the  note, 
looked  at  it — "Why,  this  is  from  John,  I  think ;  what  can 
he  have  to  say  to  me?"  She  put  on  her  spectacles  again, 
which  she  had  taken  oflf  on  the  messenger  first  accosting  her, 
and  deliberately  opened,  smoothed,  and  read  the  note : — it 
ran  thus — 

"Mother,  I  am  lonely,  come  over  and  stay  awhile  with  me, 
if  you  please. — Your  dutiful  son, 

"John  Meadows." 

"Here,  Hannah,"  cried  the  old  woman  to  a  neighbour's 
daughter  that  was  nearly  always  with  her. 

Hannah,  a  comely  girl  of  fourteen,  came  running  in. 

"Here's  John  wants  me  to  go  over  to  his  house ;  get  me 
the  pen  and  ink,  girl,  out  of  the  cupboard,  and  I'll  write  him 
a  word  or  two  any  way.  Is  there  anything  amiss?"  said  she 
quickly  to  the  man. 

"He  came  in  with  the  black  mare  all  in  a  lather,  just  after 
dinner,  and  he  hasn't  spoke  to  a  soul  since,  that's  all  I  know. 
Missus,  I  think  something  has  put  him  out,  and  he  isn't  soon 
put  out,  you  know,  he  isn't." 

Hannah  left  the  room,  after  placing  the  paper  as  she  was 
bid. 

"You  will  all  be  put  out  that  trust  to  an  arm  of  flesh,  all 
of  ye,  master  or  man,  Dick  Messenger,"  said  the  disciple  of 
John  Wesley  somewhat  grimly — "Ay,  and  be  put  out  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  too  if  ye  don't  take  heed." 

"Is  that  the  news  I'm  to  take  back  to  Farnborough, 
Missus  ?"  said  Messenger,  with  quiet  rustic  irony. 

"No ;  I'll  write  to  him." 

The  old  woman  wrote  a  few  lines  reminding  Meadows  that 
the  pursuit  of  earthly  objects  could  never  bring  any  steady 
comfort,  and  telling  him  that  she  should  be  lost  in  his  great 
house — that  it  would  seem  quite  strange  to  her  to  go  into  the 

56 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

town  after  so  many  years'  quiet — but  that  if  he  was  minded 
to  come  out  and  see  her,  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him  and 
glad  of  the  opportunity  to  give  him  her  advice,  if  he  was  in 
a  better  frame  for  listening  to  it  than  last  time  she  offered  it 
to  him,  and  that  was  two  years  come  Martinmas. 

Then  the  old  woman  paused — next  she  reflected — and 
afterwards  dried  her  unfinished  letter.  And  as  she  began 
slowly  to  fold  it  up  and  put  in  her  pocket — "Hannah,"  cried 
she  thoughtfully. 

Hannah  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"I  dare  say — you  may  fetch — my  cloak  and  bonnet.  Why, 
if  the  wench  hasn't  got  them  on  her  arm.  What,  you  made 
up  your  mind  that  I  should  go  then  ?" 

"That  I  did,"  repHed  Hannah.  "Your  warm  shawl  is  in 
the  cart,  Mrs.  Meadows." 

"Oh !  you  did,  did  you.  Young  folks  are  apt  to  be  sure 
and  certain — I  was  in  two  minds  about  it,  so  I  don't  see  how 
the  child  could  be  sure,"  said  she,  dividing  her  remark  be- 
tween vacancy  and  the  person  addressed  ;  a  grammatical  privi- 
lege of  old  age. 

"Oh !  but  /  was  sure,  for  that  matter,"  replied  Hannah 
firmly. 

"And  what  made  the  little  wench  so  sure,  I  wonder?"  said 
the  old  woman,  now  in  her  black  bonnet  and  scarlet  cloak. 

"Why,  la!"  says  Hannah,  "because  it's  your  son,  ma'am — 
and  you're  his  mother.  Dame  Meadows !" 


CHAPTER   VI. 

JOHN  MEADOWS  had  always  been  an  active  man,  but 
now  he  was  indefatigable.  He  was  up  at  five  every 
morning,  and  seemed  ubiquitous ;  added  a  grey  gelding  to  his 
black  mare,  and  rode  them  both  nearly  off  their  legs.  He 
surveyed  land  in  half  a  dozen  counties — he  speculated  in 
grain  in  half  a  dozen  markets,  and  did  business  in  shares. 
His  plan  in  dealing  with  this  ticklish  speculation  was  simple : 
he  listened  to  nothing  anybody  said,  examined  the  venture 
himself,  and  if  it  had  a  sound  basis,  bought  when  the  herd 

57 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

were  selling  and  sold  whenever  the  herd  were  buying. 
Hence,  he  bought  cheap  and  sold  dear. 

He  also  lent  money,  and  contrived  to  solve  the  usurer's 
problem — perfect  security,  and  huge  interest. 

He  arrived  at  this  by  his  own  sagacity,  and  the  stupidity 
of  mankind. 

Mankind  are  not  wanting  in  intelligence ;  but,  as  a  body, 
they  have  one  intellectual  defect — they  are  muddle-heads. 

Now  these  muddle-heads  have  agreed  to  say  that  land  is  in 
all  cases  five  times  a  surer  security  for  money  lent  than  mov- 
ables are.  Whereas  the  fact  is  that  sometimes  it  is  and 
sometimes  it  is  not.  Owing  to  the  above  delusion  the  pro- 
prietor of  land  can  always  borrow  money  at  four  per  cent., 
and  other  proprietors  are  often  driven  to  give  ten — twenty — 
thirty. 

So  John  Meadows  lent  mighty  little  upon  land,  but  much 
upon  oatricks,  waggons,  advantageous  leases,  and  such 
things,  solid  as  land,  and  more  easily  convertible  into 
cash. 

Thus  without  risk  he  got  his  twenty  per  cent.  Not  that  he 
appeared  in  these  transactions — he  had  too  many  good  irons 
in  the  fire  to  let  himself  be  called  an  usurer. 

He  worked  this  business  as  three  thousand  respectable  men 
are  working  it  in  this  nation.  He  had  a  human  money-bag, 
whose  strings  he  went  behind  a  screen  and  pulled. 

The  human  money-bag  of  Meadows  was  Peter  Crawley. 

This  Peter  Crawley,  some  years  before  our  tale,  lay  crushed 
beneath  a  barrowful  of  debts — many  of  them  to  publicans.  In 
him  others  saw  a  cunning  fool  and  a  sot — Meadows  an  un- 
scrupulous tool :  Meadows  wanted  a  tool,  and  knew  the  cheap- 
est way  to  get  the  thing  was  to  buy  it,  so  he  bought  up  all 
Crawley's  debts,  sued  him,  got  judgments  out  against  him. 
and  raising  the  axe  of  the  law  over  Peter's  head  with  his  right 
hand,  offered  him  the  left  hand  of  fellowship  with  his  left ; 
down  on  his  knees  went  Crawley,  and  resigned  his  existence 
to  this  great  man. 

Human  creatures,  whose  mission  it  is  to  do  whatever  a 
man  secretly  bids  them,  are  not  entitled  to  long  and  interest- 
ing descriptions. 

Crawlev  was  fifty,  and  wore  a  brown  wig,  the  only  thing 

58 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

about  him  that  did  not  attempt  disguise,  and  slouched  in  a 
brown  coat  and  a  shirt  peppered  with  snuff. 

In  this  life  he  was  an  infinitesimal  attorney :  previously,  un- 
less Pythagoras  was  a  goose,  he  had  been  a  pole-cat. 

Meadows  was  ambidexter.  The  two  hands  he  gathered 
coin  with  were  Meadows  and  Crawley.  The  first  his  honest 
hard-working  hand — the  second  his  three-fingered  Jack,  his 
prestidigital  hand ;  with  both  he  now  worked  harder  than 
ever.  He  hurried  from  business  to  business — could  not  wait 
to  chat,  or  drink  a  glass  of  ale  after  it ;  it  was  all  work  ! 
work !  work  ! — money  !  money  !  money  !  with  John  Meadows, 
and  everything  he  touched  turned  to  gold  in  his  hands ;  yet 
for  all  this  burning  activity  the  man's  heart  had  never  been 
so  little  in  business.  His  activity  was  the  struggle  of  a  sen- 
sible, strong  mind  to  fight  against  its  one  weakness. 

"Cedit  amor  rebus ;  res  age  tutus  eris,"  is  a  very  wise  say- 
ing, and  Meadows  by  his  own  observation  and  instinct  sought 
the  best  antidote  for  love. 

But  the  Latins  had  another  true  saying,  that  "nobody  is 
wise  at  all  hours." 

After  his  day  of  toil  and  success  he  used  to  be  guilty  of  a 
sad  inconsistency ;  he  shut  himself  up  at  home  for  two  hours, 
and  smoked  his  pipe  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  newspaper,  but 
his  mind  over  Susan  Merton. 

Worse  than  this,  in  his  frequent  rides  he  used  to  go  a  mile 
or  two  out  of  his  way  to  pass  Grassmere  farm-house :  and 
however  fast  he  rode  the  rest  of  his  journey,  he  always  let 
his  nag  walk  by  the  farm-house,  and  his  eye  brightened  with 
hope  as  he  approached  it,  and  his  heart  sank  as  he  passed  it 
without  seeing  Susan. 

He  now  bitterly  regretted  the  vow  he  had  made,  never  to 
visit  the  Mertons  again  unless  they  sent  for  him. 

"They  have  forgotten  me  altogether,"  said  he  bitterly. 
"Well,  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  forget  them." 

Now,  Susan  had  forgotten  him ;  she  was  absorbed  in  her 
own  grief ;  but  Merton  was  labouring  under  a  fit  of  rheuma- 
tism, and  this  was  the  reason  why  Meadows  and  he  did 
not  meet.  In  fact,  farmer  Merton  often  said  to  his 
daughter,  "John  Meadows  has  not  been  to  see  us  a  long 
while." 

59 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Hasn't  he,  father?"  was  Susan's  languid  and  careless 
reply. 

One  Sunday,  Meadows,  weakened  by  his  inner  struggle, 
could  not  help  going  to  Grassmere  church.  At  least  he  would 
see  her  face.  He  had  seated  himself  where  he  could  see  her. 
She  took  her  old  place  by  the  pillar;  nobody  was  near  her. 
The  light  from  a  side  window  streamed  full  upon  her :  she 
was  pale,  and  the  languor  of  sorrow  was  upon  every  part  of 
her  face,  but  she  was  lovely  as  ever. 

Meadows  watched  her,  and  noticed  that  more  than  once 
without  any  visible  reason  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she 
shed  none. 

He  saw  how  hard  she  tried  to  give  her  whole  soul  to  the 
services  of  the  church  and  to  the  word  of  the  preacher ;  he 
saw  her  succeed  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  and  then  with 
a  lover's  keen  eye  he  saw  her  heart  fly  away  in  a  moment 
from  prayer  and  praise  and  consolation,  and  follow  and  over- 
take the  ship  that  was  carrying  her  George  farther  and  far- 
ther away  from  her  across  the  sea :  and  then  her  lips  quivered 
with  earthly  sorrow  even  as  she  repeated  words  that  came 
from  Heaven,  and  tried  to  bind  to  her  heavy  heart  the  pray- 
ers for  succour  in  every  mortal  ill,  the  promises  of  help  in 
every  mortal  woe,  with  which  holy  Church  and  holier  writ 
comfort  her  and  all  the  pure  of  heart  in  every  age. 

Then  Meadows,  who  up  to  this  moment  had  been  pitying 
himself,  had  a  better  thought  and  pitied  Susan.  He  even 
went  so  far  as  to  feel  that  he  ought  to  pity  George,  but  he 
did  not  do  it,  he  could  not,  he  envied  him  too  much ;  but  he 
pitied  Susan,  and  he  longed  to  say  something  kind  and  friend- 
ly to  her,  even  though  there  should  not  be  a  word  or  a  look 
of  love  in  it. 

Susan  went  out  by  one  of  the  church  doors.  Meadows  by 
another,  intending  to  meet  her  casually  upon  the  road  home. 
Susan  saw  his  intention,  and  took  another  path,  so  that  he 
could  not  come  up  with  her  without  following  her. 

Meadows  turned  upon  his  heel  and  went  home  with  his 
heart  full  of  bitterness. 

"She  hates  the  sight  of  me,"  was  his  interpretation. 

Poor  Susan,  she  hated  nobody,  she  only  hated  to  have  to 
speak  to  a  stranger,  and  to  listen  to  a  stranger ;  and  in  her 

60 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

present  grief  all  were  strangers  to  her  except  him  she  had  lost 
and  her  father.  She  avoided  Meadows  not  because  he  was 
Meadows,  but  because  she  wanted  to  be  alone. 

Meadows  rode  home  despondently,  then  he  fell  to  abusing 
his  folly,  and  vowed  he  would  think  of  her  no  more. 

The  next  day  finding  himself  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening 
seated  by  the  fire  in  a  reverie,  he  suddenly  started  fiercely  up, 
saddled  his  horse,  and  rode  into  Newborough,  and  putting  up 
his  horse  strolled  about  the  streets,  and  tried  to  amuse  him- 
self looking  at  the  shops  before  they  closed. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  stopping  before  a  bookseller's 
shop  he  saw  advertised  a  work  upon  ''The  Australian 
Colonies." 

"Confound  Australia !"  said  Meadows  to  himself,  and 
turned  on  his  heel,  but  the  next  moment  with  a  sudden  change 
of  mind  he  returned  and  bought  the  book :  he  did  more,  he 
gave  the  tradesman  an  order  for  every  approved  work  on 
Australia  that  was  to  be  had. 

The  bookseller,  as  it  happened,  was  going  up  to  London 
next  day,  so  that  in  the  evening  Meadows  had  some  dozen 
volumes  in  his  house,  and  a  tolerably  correct  map  of  certain 
Australian  districts. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Meadows,  "what  chance  that  chap  has 
of  making  a  thousand  pounds  out  there."  This  was  no  doubt 
the  beginning  of  it,  but  it  did  not  end  there.  The  intelligent 
Meadows  had  not  read  a  hundred  pages  before  he  found  out 
what  a  wonderful  country  this  Australia  is,  how  worthy  a 
money-getter's  attention  or  any  thoughtful  man's. 

It  seemed  as  if  his  rival  drew  Meadows  after  him  wherever 
he  went,  so  fascinated  was  he  with  this  subject.  And  now 
all  the  evening  he  sucked  the  books  like  a  leech. 

Men  observed  about  this  time  an  irritable  manner  in  Mr. 
Meadows  which  he  had  never  shown  before,  and  an  eternal 
restlessness ;  they  little  divined  the  cause,  or  dreamed  what  a 
vow  he  had  made,  and  what  it  cost  him  every  day  to  keep 
it.  So  strong  was  the  struggle  within  him,  that  there  were 
moments  when  he  feared  he  should  go  mad ;  and  then  it  was 
that  he  learned  the  value  of  his  mother's  presence  in  the 
house. 

There  was  no  explanation  between  them,  there  could  be  no 

6i 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

sympathy ;  had  he  opened  his  heart  to  her  he  knew  she  would 
have  denounced  his  love  for  Susan  Merton  as  a  damnable 
crime.     Once  she  invited  his  confidence — 

"What  ails  you,  John?"  said  the  old  woman.  "You  had 
better  tell  me;  you  would  feel  easier,  I'm  thinking." 

But  he  turned  it  off  a  little  fretfully,  and  she  never  re- 
turned to  the  charge;  but  though  there  could  be  no  direct 
sympathy,  yet  there  was  a  soothing  influence  in  this  quaint 
old  woman's  presence.  She  moved  quietly  about,  protecting 
his  habits,  not  disturbing  them !  she  seemed  very  thoughtful 
too,  and  cast  many  a  secret  glance  of  inquiry  and  interest  at 
him  when  he  was  not  looking  at  her. 

This  had  gone  on  some  weeks  when  one  afternoon  Mead- 
ows, who  had  been  silent  as  death  for  a  full  half  hour,  started 
from  his  chair  and  said  with  sudden  resolution — 

"Mother,  I  must  leave  this  part  of  the  country  for  a  while." 

"That  is  news,  John." 

"Yes,  I  shall  go  into  the  mining  district  for  six  months,  or 
a  year  perhaps." 

"Well !  go,  John  !  you  want  a  change.  I  think  you  can't  do 
better  than  go." 

"I  will,  and  no  later  than  to-morrow." 

"That  is  sudden." 

"If  I  was  to  give  mvself  time  to  think,  I  should  never  go 
at  all." 

He  went  out  briskly  with  the  energy  of  this  determina- 
tion. 

The  same  evening,  about  seven  o'clock,  as  he  sat  reading  by 
the  fire,  an  unexpected  visitor  was  announced.  Mr.  Merton. 

He  came  cordially  in  and  scolded  Meadows  for  never  hav- 
ing been  to  see  him. 

"I  know  you  are  a  busy  man,"  said  the  old  farmer,  "but 
you  might  have  given  us  a  look  in  coming  home  from  market ; 
it  is  only  a  mile  out  of  the  way,  and  you  are  pretty  well 
mounted  in  a  general  way." 

Then  the  old  man,  a  gossip,  took  up  one  of  Meadows' 
books.  "Australia !  ah  !"  grunted  Merton,  and  dropped  it  like 
a  hot  potato ;  he  tried  another.  "Why,  this  is  Australia,  too ; 
why,  they  are  all  Australia,  as  I  am  a  living  sinner."  And 
he  looked  with  a  rueful  curiositv  into  Meadows'  face. 

62' 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Meadows  coloured,  but  soon  recovered  his  external  com- 
posure. 

"I  have  friends  there,"  said  he  hastily,  "who  tell  me  there 
are  capital  investments  in  that  country,  and  they  say  no  more 
than  the  truth." 

"Do  you  think  he  will  do  any  good  out  there?"  asked  the 
old  man,  lowering  his  voice. 

"I  can't  say,"  answered  Meadows  drily. 

"Tell  us  something  about  that  country,  John,"  said  Merton ; 
"and  if  you  was  to  ask  me  to  take  a  glass  of  your  home- 
brewed ale  I  don't  think  I  should  gainsay  you." 

The  ale  was  sent  for,  and  over  it  Meadows,  whose  powers 
of  acquisition  extended  to  facts  as  well  as  money,  and  who 
was  full  of  this  new  subject,  poured  the  agricultural  contents 
of  a  dozen  volumes  into  Mr.  Merton. 

The  old  farmer  sat  open-mouthed,  transfixed  with  interest, 
listening  to  his  friend's  clear,  intelligent,  and  masterly  de- 
scriptions of  this  wonderful  land.  At  last  the  clock  struck 
nine ;  he  started  up  in  astonishment — 

"I  shall  get  a  scolding  if  I  stay  later,"  said  he,  and  off  he 
went  to  Grassmere. 

"Have  you  nothing  else  to  say  to  me?"  asked  Meadows,  as 
the  farmer  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  replied  the  other,  and  cantered  away. 

"Confound  him !"  muttered  Meadows ;  "he  comes  and  stops 
here  three  hours,  drinks  my  ale,  gets  my  knowledge  without 
the  trouble  of  digging  for't,  and  goes  away,  and  not  a  word 
from  Susan,  or  even  a  word  about  her — one  word  would 
have  paid  me  for  all  the  loss  of  time — but  no,  I  was  not  to 
have  it.  I  will  be  in  Devonshire  this  time  to-morrow — no, 
to-morrow  is  market-day — but  the  day  after  I  will  go.  I 
cannot  live  here,  and  not  see  her,  nor  speak  to  her, — 'twill 
drive  me  mad." 

The  next  morning,  as  Meadows  mounted  his  horse  to  ride 
to  market,  a  carter's  boy  came  up  to  him.  and  taking  off  his 
hat,  and  pulling  his  head  down  by  the  front  lock  by  way  of 
salute,  put  a  note  into  his  hand. 

Meadows  took  it  and  opened  it  carelessly,  it  was  a  hand- 
writing he  did  not  know.  But  his  eye  had  no  sooner  glanced 
at  the  signature  than  his  eves  gleamed,  and  his  whole  frame 

^    63 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

trembled  with  emotion  he  could  hardly  hide.     This  was  the 
letter— 

"Dear  Mr.  Meadows, — We  have  not  seen  you  here  a  long 
time,  and  if  you  could  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  us  on  your  way 
home  from  market,  my  father  would  be  glad  to  see  you,  if  it 
is  not  troubling  you  too  much.  I  believe  he  has  some  calves 
he  wishes  to  show  you. — I  am,  yours  respectfully, 

"Susan  Merton. 

"P.  S. — Father  has  been  confined  by  rheumatism,  and  I 
have  not  been  well  this  last  month." 

Meadows  turned  away  from  the  messenger,  and  said  quiet- 
ly, "Tell  Miss  Merton  I  will  come  if  possible."  He  then 
galloped  off,  and  as  soon  as  there  was  no  one  in  sight  gave 
vent  to  his  face  and  his  exulting  soul. 

Now  he  congratulated  himself  on  his  goodness  in  making 
a  certain  vow,  and  his  firmness  in  keeping  it. 

'T  kept  out  of  their  way,  and  they  have  invited  me;  my 
conscience  is  clear." 

He  then  asked  himself  why  Susan  had  invited  him ;  and  he 
could  not  but  augur  the  most  favourable  results  from  this  act 
on  her  part ;  true,  his  manner  to  her  had  never  gone  beyond 
friendship,  but  women,  he  argued,  are  quick  to  discern  their 
admirers  under  every  disguise.  She  was  dull  and  out  of 
spirits,  and  wrote  for  him  to  come  to  her,  this  was  a  great 
point,  a  good  beginning — "The  sea  is  between  her  and 
George,  and  I  am  here,  with  time  and  opportunity  on  my 
side,"  said  Meadows ;  and  as  these  thoughts  coursed  through 
his  heart,  his  grey  nag,  spurred  by  an  unconscious  heel,  broke 
into  a  hand-gallop,  and  after  an  hour  and  a  half  hard  riding 
they  clattered  into  the  town  of  Newburgh. 

The  habit  of  driving  hard  bargains  is  a  good  thing  for 
teaching  a  man  to  suppress  his  feelings  and  feign  indifference, 
yet  the  civil  nonchalance  with  which  Meadows  on  his  return 
from  Newborough  walked  into  the  Mertons'  parlour  cost  him 
no  ordinary  struggle. 

The  farmer  received  him  cordially — Susan  civilly,  and  with 
a  somewhat  feeble  smile.  The  former  soon  engaged  him  in 
agricultural  talk.     Susan  meanwhile  made  the  tea  in  silence, 

64 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

and  Meadows  began  to  think  she  was  capricious,  and  had  no 
sooner  got  what  she  asked  for  than  she  did  not  care  for  it. 
After  a  while,  however,  she  put  in  a  word  here  and  there,  but 
with  a  discouraging  languor. 

Presently  Farmer  Merton  brought  her  his  tea-cup  to  be 
replenished :  and  upon  this  opportunity  Susan  said  a  word  to 
her  father  in  an  undertone. 

"Oh,  ay,"  replied  the  farmer,  very  loud  indeed ;  and  Susan 
coloured. 

"What  was  you  saying  to  me  about  that  country — that 
Christmas  day  is  the  hottest  day  in  the  year?"  began  Mr. 
Merton. 

Meadows  assented,  and  Merton  proceeded  to  put  other 
questions,  in  order,  it  appeared,  to  draw  once  more  from 
Meadows  the  interesting  information  of  last  night. 

Meadows  answered  shortly,  and  with  repugnance.  Then 
Susan  put  in :  "And  is  it  true,  sir,  that  the  flowers  are  beau- 
tiful to  the  eye  but  have  no  smell,  and  that  the  birds  have  all 
gay  feathers,  but  no  song?"  Then  Susan,  scarcely  giving 
him  time  to  answer,  proceeded  to  put  several  questions,  and 
her  manner  was  no  longer  languid,  but  bright  and  animated. 
She  wound  up  her  interrogatories  with  this  climax — 

"And  do  you  think,  sir,  it  is  a  country  where  George  will 
be  able  to  do  any  good  ?  And  will  he  have  his  health  in  that 
land,  so  far  from  every  one  to  take  care  of  him?" 

And  this  doubt  raised,  the  bright  eyes  were  dimmed  with 
tears  in  a  moment. 

Meadows  gasped  out,  "Why  not?  why  not?"  but  soon  after, 
muttering  some  excuse  about  his  horse,  he  went  out  with  a 
promise  to  return  immediately. 

He  was  no  sooner  alone  than  he  gave  way  to  a  burst  of 
rage  and  bitterness. 

"So,  she  only  sent  for  me  here  to  make  me  tell  her  about 
that  infernal  country  where  her  George  is.  I'll  ride  home 
this  instant — this  very  instant — without  bidding  them  good- 
bye." 

Cooler  thoughts  came.  He  mused  deeply  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  clenching  his  teeth,  returned  slowly  to  the  little  par- 
lour ;  he  sat  down  and  took  his  line  with  a  brisk  and  cheerful 
air. 

65 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"You  were  asking  me  some  questions  about  Australia.  I 
can  tell  you  all  about  that  country,  for  I  have  a  relation  there 
who  writes  to  me.  And  I  have  read  all  the  books  about  it 
too,  as  it  happens." 

Susan  brightened  up. 

Meadows,  by  a  great  histrionic  effort,  brightened  up  too, 
and  poured  out  a  flood  of  really  interesting  facts  and  anec- 
dotes about  this  marvellous  land. 

Then,  in  the  middle  of  a  narrative  which  enchained  both  his 
hearers,  he  suddenly  looked  at  his  watch,  and  putting  on  a 
fictitious  look  of  dismay  and  annoyance,  started  up  with  many 
excuses  and  went  home — not,  however,  till  Susan  had  made 
him  promise  to  come  again  next  market-day. 

As  he  rode  home  in  the  moonlight  Susan's  face  seemed 
still  before  him.  The  bright  look  of  interest  she  had  given 
him,  the  grateful  smiles  with  which  she  had  thanked  him  for 
his  narration — all  this  had  been  so  sweet  at  the  moment,  so 
bitter  upon  the  least  reflection.  His  mind  was  in  a  whirl. 
At  last  he  grasped  at  one  idea,  and  held  it  as  with  a  vice. 

'T  shall  be  always  welcome  to  her  if  I  can  bring  myself  to 
talk  about  that  detestable  country.  Well,  I  will  grind  my 
tongue  down  to  it.  She  shall  not  be  able  to  do  without  my 
chat ;  that  shall  be  the  beginning ;  the  middle  shall  be  differ- 
ent; the  end  shall  be  just  the  opposite.  The  sea  is  between 
him  and  her.  I  am  here  with  opportunity,  resolution,  and 
money.     I  will  have  her !" 

The  next  morning  his  mother  said  to  him — 

"John,  do  you  think  to  go  to-day?" 

"Where,  mother?" 

"The  journey  you  spoke  of." 

"What  journey  ?" 

"Among  the  mines." 

"Not  I." 

"You  have  changed  your  mind,  then." 

"What,  didn't  you  see  I  was  joking?" 

"No!"  (very  drily.) 

Soon  after  this  little  dialogue  Dame  Meadows  proposed 
to  end  her  visit  and  return  home.  Her  son  yielded  a  cheerful 
assent.  She  went  gravely  and  quietly  back  to  her  little 
cottage. 

66 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Meadows  had  determined  to  make  himself  necessary  to 
Susan  Merton.  He  brought  a  woman's  cunning  to  bear 
against  a  woman ;  for  the  artifice  to  which  his  strong  will 
bent  his  supple  talent  is  one  that  many  women  have  had  the 
tact  and  temporary  self-denial  to  carry  out,  but  not  one  man 
in  a  hundred. 

Men  try  to  beat  an  absent  rival  by  sneering  at  him,  &c. 
By  which  means  the  asses  make  their  absent  foe  present  to 
her  mind,  and  enlist  the  whole  woman  in  his  defence. 

But  Meadows  was  no  ordinary  man.  Susan  had  given  his 
quick  intelligence  a  glimpse  of  a  way  to  please  her :  he  looked 
at  the  end,  and  crushed  his  will  down  to  the  thorny  means. 

Twice  a-week  he  called  on  the  Mertons,  and  much  of  his 
talk  was  Australia.  Susan  was  grateful.  To  hear  of  the 
place  where  George  would  soon  be  was  the  nearest  approach 
she  could  make  to  hearing  of  George. 

As  for  Meadows  he  gained  a  great  point,  but  he  went 
through  tortures  on  the  way.  He  could  not  hide  from  him- 
self why  he  was  so  welcome ;  and  many  a  time  as  he  rode 
home  from  the  Mertons  he  resolved  never  to  return  there, 
but  he  took  no  more  oaths :  it  had  cost  him  so  much  to  keep 
the  last;  and  that  befell  which  might  have  been  expected, 
after  a  while,  the  pleasure  of  being  near  the  woman  he  loved, 
of  being  distinguished  by  her  and  greeted  with  pleasure,  how- 
ever slight,  grew  into  a  habit  and  a  need. 

Achilles  was  a  man  of  steel,  but  he  had  a  vulnerable  part ; 
and  iron  natures  like  John  Meadows  have  often  one  spot  in 
their  souls  where  they  are  far  tenderer  than  the  universal 
dove-eyed,  and  weaker  than  the  omnipotent.  He  never  spoke 
a  word  of  love  to  Susan,  he  knew  it  would  spoil  all ;  and  she. 
occupied  with  another's  image,  and  looking  upon  herself  as 
confessedly  belonging  to  another,  never  suspected  the  deep 
passion  that  filled  this  man's  heart.  But  if  an  observer  of 
nature  had  accompanied  John  Meadows  on  market-day  he 
might  have  seen — diagnostics. 

All  the  morning  his  eye  was  cold  and  quick ;  his  mouth, 
when  silent,  close,  firm,  and  unreadable ;  his  voice  clear,  de- 
cided, and  occasionally  loud.  But  when  he  got  to  old  Mor- 
ton's fire-side  he  mellowed  and  softened  like  the  sun  towards 
evening:  there  his  forehead  unknit  itself;  his  voice,  pitched 

67 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

in  quite  a  different  key  from  his  key  of  business,  turned  also 
low  and  gentle,  and  soothed  and  secretly  won  the  hearer  by 
its  deep,  rich,  and  pleasant  modulation  and  variety;  and  his 
eye  turned  deeper  in  colour,  and  losing  its  keenness  and  rest- 
lessness, dwelt  calmly  and  pensively  for  minutes  at  a  time 
upon  some  little  household  object  close  to  Susan;  seldom, 
unless  quite  unobserved,  upon  Susan  herself. 

But  the  surrounding  rustics  suspected  nothing,  so  calm  and 
deep  ran  Meadows. 

"Dear  heart,"  said  Susan  to  her  father,  "who  would  have 
thought  Mr.  Meadows  would  come  a  mile  out  of  his  way 
twice  a-week  to  talk  to  me  about  Geo — about  the  country 
where  my  heart  is — and  the  folk  say  he  thinks  of  nothing  but 
money,  and  won't  move  a  step  without  making  it." 

"The  folk  are  envious  of  him,  girl — that  is  all.  John 
Meadows  is  too  clever  for  fools,  and  too  industrious  for  the 
lazy  ones ;  he  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  Susan ;  if  I  wanted  to 
borrow  a  thousand  pounds  I  have  only  to  draw  on  Meadows ; 
he  has  told  me  so  half-a-dozen  times." 

"We  don't  want  his  money,  father,"  replied  Susan,  "nor 
anybody's,  but  I  think  a  great  deal  of  his  kindness,  and 
George  shall  thank  him  when  he  comes  home — if  ever  he 
comes  home  to  Susan  again."  These  last  words  brought 
many  tears  with  them,  which  the  old  farmer  pretended  not 
to  notice,  for  he  was  getting  tired  of  his  daughter's  tears. 
They  were  always  flowing  now  at  the  least  word,  "and  she 
used  to  be  so  good-humoured  and  cheerful  like." 

Poor  Susan !  she  was  very  unhappy.  If  any  one  had  said 
to  her  "To-morrow  you  die,"  she  would  have  smiled  on  her 
own  account,  and  only  sighed  at  the  pain  the  news  would 
cause  poor  George.  Her  George  was  gone,  her  mother  had 
been  dead  this  two  years.  Her  life,  which  had  been  full  of 
innocent  pleasures,  was  now  utterly  tasteless,  except  in  its 
hours  of  bitterness,  when  sorrow  overcame  her  like  a  flood. 
She  had  a  pretty  flower-garden,  in  which  she  used  to  work. 
When  George  was  at  home  what  pleasure  it  had  been  to  plant 
them  with  her  lover's  help,  to  watch  them  expand,  to  water 
them  in  the  summer  evening,  to  smell  their  gratitude  for  the 
artificial  shower  after  a  sultry  day,  and  then  to  have  George 
in,  and  set  him  admiring  them  with  such  threadbare  enthu- 

68 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

siasm,  simply  because  they  were  hers,  not  in  the  least  because 
they  were  Nature's. 

I  will  go  back  like  the  epic  writers,  and  sketch  one  of  their 
little  garden  scenes. 

One  evening,  after  watering  them  all,  she  sat  down  on  a 
seat  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  casting  her  eyes  over 
her  whole  domain,  said,  "Well,  now,  I  do  admire  flowers ; 
don't  you,  George?" 

"That  I  do,"  replied  George,  taking  another  seat,  and 
coolly  turning  his  back  on  the  parterre,  and  gazing  mildly 
into  Susan's  eyes. 

"Why,  he  is  not  even  looking  at  them !"  cried  Susan,  and 
she  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  gleefully. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  is ;  leastways  he  is  looking  at  one  of  them, 
and  the  brightest  of  the  lot  to  my  fancy." 

Susan  coloured  with  pleasure.  In  the  country  compliments 
don't  drip  constantly  on  beauty  even  from  the  lips  of  love. 
Then,  suppressing  her  satisfaction,  she  said,  "You  will  look 
for  a  flower  in  return  for  that,  young  man ;  come  and  let  us 
see  whether  there  is  one  good  enough  for  you."  So  then 
they  took  hands,  and  Susan  drew  him  demurely  about  the 
garden.  Presently  she  stopped  with  a  little  start  of  hypocrit- 
ical admiration :  at  their  feet  shone  a  marigold.  Susan  culled 
the  gaudy  flower,  and  placed  it  affectionately  in  George's 
button-hole.  He  received  it  proudly,  and  shaking  hands  with 
her,  for  it  was  time  to  part,  turned  away  slowly.  She  let  him 
take  a  step  or  two,  then  called  him  back.  "He  was  really 
going  ofi  with  that  nasty  thing."  She  took  it  out  of  his 
button-hole,  rubbed  it  against  his  nose  with  well-feigned 
anger,  and  then  threw  it  away. 

"You  are  all  behind  in  flowers,  George,"  said  Susan;  "here, 
this  is  good  enough  for  you,"  and  she  brought  out  from 
under  her  apron,  where  she  had  carried  the  furtively-culled 
treasure,  a  lovely  clove-pink :  pretty  soul,  she  had  nursed,  and 
watered,  and  cherished  this  choice  flower  this  three  weeks 
past  for  George,  and  this  was  her  way  of  giving  it  him  at 
last;  so  a  true  woman  gives — (her  life,  if  need  be).  George 
took  it,  and  smelled  it,  and  lingered  a  moment  at  the  garden 
gate,  and  moralised  on  it.  "Well,  Susan  dear,  now  I'm  not 
so  deep  in  flowers  as  vou.  but  I  like  this  a  deal  better  than 

69 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

the  marigold,  and  I'll  tell  you  for  why :  it  is  more  like  you, 
Susan." 

"Ay !  why  ?" 

'T  see  flowers  that  are  pretty,  but  have  no  smell,  and  I  see 
women  that  have  good  looks,  but  no  great  wisdom  nor  good- 
ness when  you  come  nearer  to  them.  Now  the  marigold  is 
like  those  lasses ;  but  this  pink  is  good  as  well  as  pretty,  so 
then  it  will  stand  for  you,  when  we  are  apart,  as  we  mostly 
are — worse  luck  for  me." 

"Oh,  George,"  said  Susan,  dropping  her  quizzing  manner, 
"I  am  a  long  way  behind  the  marigold  or  any  flower  in 
comeliness  and  innocence,  but  at  least  I  wish  I  was  better." 

"I  don't." 

"Ay,  but  I  do,  ten  times  better,  for — for " 

"For  why,  Susan?" 

Susan  closed  the  garden  gate  and  took  a  step  towards  the 
house.  Then  turning  her  head  over  her  shoulder  with  an  in- 
eflFable  look  of  tenderness,  tipped  with  one  tint  of  lingering 
archness,  she  let  fall,  "For  your  sake,  George,"  in  the  direc- 
tion of  George's  feet,  and  glided  across  the  garden  into  the 
house. 

George  stood  watching  her :  he  did  not  at  first  take  up  all 
she  had  bestowed  on  him,  for  her  sex  has  peculiar  mastery 
over  language,  being  diabolically  angelically  subtle  in  the  art 
of  saying  something  that  expresses  i  oz.  and  implies  i  cwt. ; 
but  when  he  did  comprehend,  his  heart  exulted.  He  strode 
home  as  if  he  trod  on  air,  and  often  kissed  the  little  flower 
he  had  taken  from  the  beloved  hand,  "and  with  it  words  of 
so  sweet  breath  composed,  as  made  the  thing  more  rich ;" 
and  as  he  marched  past  the  house  kissing  the  flower,  need  I 
tell  my  reader  that  so  innocent  a  girl  as  Susan  was  too  high- 
minded  to  watch  the  effect  of  her  proceedings  from  behind 
the  curtains?  I  hope  not,  it  would  surely  be  superfluous  to 
relate  what  none  would  be  green  enough  to  believe. 

These  were  Susan's  happy  days :  now  all  was  changed :  she 
hated  to  water  her  flowers  now :  she  bade  one  of  the  farm- 
servants  look  to  the  garden.  He  accepted  the  charge,  and 
her  flowers'  drooping  heads  told  how  nobly  he  had  fulfilled 
it.  Susan  was  charitable.  Every  day  it  had  been  her  custom 
to  visit  more  than  one  poor  person ;  she  carried  meal  to  one, 

70 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

soup  to  another,  linen  to  another,  meat  and  bread  to  another, 
money  to  another :  to  all,  words  and  looks  of  sympathy ;  this 
practice  she  did  not  even  now  give  up,  for  it  came  under  the 
head  of  her  religious  duties ;  but  she  relaxed  it.  She  often 
sent  to  places  where  she  used  to  go.  Until  George  went  she 
had  never  thought  of  herself;  and  so  the  selfishness  of  those 
she  relieved  had  not  struck  her :  now  it  made  her  bitter  to  see 
that  none  of  those  she  pitied,  pitied  her.  The  moment  she 
came  into  their  houses,  it  was,  ''My  poor  head,  Miss  Merton ; 
my  old  bones  do  ache  so. 

'T  think  a  bit  of  your  nice  bacon  would  do  me  good.  I'm 
a  poor  sufferer,  Miss  Merton.  My  boy  is  'listed.  I  thought 
as  how  you'd  forgotten  me  altogether :  but  'tis  hard  for  poor 
folk  to  keep  a  friend. 

"You  see,  Miss,  my  bedroom  window  is  broken  in  one  or 
two  places.  John,  he  stopped  it  up  with  paper  the  best  way 
he  could,  but  la,  bless  you,  paper  baint  like  glass.  It  is  very 
dull  for  me:  you  see,  Miss,  I  can't  get  about  now  as  I  used 
to  could,  and  I  never  was  no  great  reader.  I  often  wish  as 
some  one  would  step  in  and  knock  me  on  the  head,  for  I  be 
no  use,  I  bain't,  ne'er  a  mossel."  No  one  of  them  looked  up 
in  her  face,  and  said,  "Lauks !  how  pale  yon  ha'  got  to  look. 
Miss;  I  hopes  as  how  nothing  amiss  haven't  happened  to 
yon,  that  have  been  so  kind  to  us  this  many  a  day :"  yet 
suffering  of  some  sort  was  plainly  stamped  on  the  face  and  in 
the  manner  of  this  relieving  angel.  When  they  poured  out 
their  vulgar  woes  Susan  made  an  effort  to  forget  her  own 
and  to  cheer  as  well  as  relieve  them ;  but  she  had  to  compress 
her  own  heart  hard  to  do  it ;  and  this  suppression  of  feeling 
makes  people  more  or  less  bitter :  she  had  better  have  out 
with  it,  and  scolded  them  well  for  talking  as  if  they  alone 
were  unhappy ;  but  her  woman's  nature  would  not  let  her. 
They  kept  asking  her  for  pity,  and  she  still  gulped  down  her 
own  heart  and  gave  it  them,  till  at  last  she  began  to  take  a 
spite  against  her  pets ;  so  then  she  sent  to  most  of  them 
instead  of  going.  She  sent  rather  larger  slices  of  beef  and 
bacon,  and  rather  more  yards  of  flannel  than  when  she  used 
to  carry  the  like  to  them  herself.  Susan  had  one  or  two 
young  friends,  daughters  of  farmers  in  the  neighbourhood, 
with  whom  she  was  a  favourite,  though  the  gayer  ones  some- 

71 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

times  quizzed  her  for  her  religious  tendencies  and  her  la- 
mentable indifference  to  flirtation :  but  then  she  was  so  good, 
and  so  good-humoured,  and  so  tolerant  of  other  people's 
tastes.  The  prattle  of  these  young  ladies  became  now  intol- 
erable to  Susan,  and  when  she  saw  them  coming  to  call  on 
her,  she  used  to  snatch  up  her  bonnet,  and  fly  and  lock  her- 
self up  in  a  closet  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  read  some 
good  book  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  till  the  servants  had  hunted 
for  her,  and  told  them  she  must  be  out.  She  was  not  in  a 
frame  of  mind  to  sustain  tarlatans,  barege,  the  history  of 
the  last  hop,  and  the  prophecies  of  the  next;  the  wounded 
deer  shrank  from  its  gambolling  associates,  and  indeed  from 
all  strangers  except  John  Meadows :  "He  talks  to  me  about 
something  worth  talking  about,"  said  Susan  Merton.  It  hap- 
pened one  day  while  Susan  was  in  this  sad,  and  I  may  say 
dangerous  state  of  mind,  that  the  servant  came  up  to  her, 
and  told  her  a  gentleman  was  on  his  horse  at  the  door,  and 
wanted  to  see  Mr.  Merton. 

"Father  is  at  market,  Jane." 

"Yes,  Miss,  but  I  told  the  gentleman  you  were  at  home." 

"Me !  what  have  I  to  do  with  father's  visitors  ?" 

"Miss,"  replied  Jane  mysteriously,  "it  is  a  parson,  and  you 
are  so  fond  of  them,  I  could  not  think  to  let  him  go  away 
without  getting  a  word  with  anybody ;  and  he  has  such  a  face 
— La.  Miss,  you  never  saw  such  a  face." 

"Silly  girl,  what  have  I  to  do  with  handsome  faces?" 

"But  he  is  not  handsome.  Miss,  not  in  the  least,  only  he  is 
beautiful.     You  go  and  see  else," 

"I  hate  strangers'  faces ;  but  I  will  go  to  him,  Jane ;  it  is  my 
duty  since  it  is  a  clergyman.     I  will  just  go  up  stairs." 

"La,  Miss,  what  for?  you  are  always  neat,  you  are — no- 
body ever  catches  you  in  your  dishables  like  the  rest  of  'em." 

"I'll  just  smooth  my  hair." 

"La,  Miss,  what  for?  it  is  smooth  as  marble — it  always  is." 
.   "Where  is  he,  Jane?" 

"In  the  front  parlour." 

"I  won't  be  a  moment." 

She  went  upstairs.  There  was  no  necessity;  Jane  was 
right  there ;  but  it  was  a  strict  custom  in  the  country,  and  is 
for  that  matter,  and  will  be  till  time  and  vanity  shall  be  no 

72 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

more :  more  majorum  a  girl  must  go  up  and  look  at  herself 
in  the  glass  if  she  did  nothing  more,  before  coming  in  to  re- 
ceive company. 

Susan  entered  the  parlour;  she  came  in  so  gently  that  she 
had  a  moment  to  observe  her  visitor  before  he  saw  her.  He 
had  seated  himself  with  his  back  to  the  light,  and  was  devour- 
ing a  stupid  book  on  husbandry  that  belonged  to  her  father. 
The  moment  she  closed  the  door  he  saw  her,  and  rose  from 
his  seat. 

"Miss  Merton?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"The  living  of  this  place  has  been  vacant  more  than  a 
month." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  will  not  be  filled  up  for  three  months,  perhaps." 

"So  we  hear,  sir." 

"Meantime  you  have  no  church  to  go  to  nearer  than  Barn- 
stoke,  which  is  a  chapel-of-ease  to  this  place,  but  two  miles 
distant." 

"Two  miles  and  a  half,  sir." 

"So  then  the  people  here  have  no  Divine  service  on  the 
Lord's  day." 

"No,  sir,  not  for  the  present,"  said  Susan  meekly,  lowering 
her  lashes,  as  if  the  clergyman  had  said,  "this  is  a  parish  of 
heathens,  whereof  you  are  one." 

"Nor  any  servant  of  God  to  say  a  word  of  humility  and 
charity  to  the  rich,  of  eternal  hope  to  the  poor,  and"  (here 
his  voice  sunk  into  sudden  tenderness)  "of  comfort  to  the 
sorrowful." 

Susan  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  him  over  with  one  dove- 
like glance,  then  instantly  lowered  them. 

"No,  sir,  we  are  all  under  a  cloud  here,"  said  Susan  sadly. 

"Miss  Merton,  I  have  undertaken  the  duty  here  until  the 
living  shall  be  filled  up ;  but  you  shall  understand  that  I  live 
thirty  miles  off,  and  have  other  duties,  and  I  can  only  ride 
over  here  on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  back  Monday  at  noon." 

"Oh,  sir !"  cried  Susan,  "half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no  Bread ! 
The  parish  will  bless  you,  sir,  and  no  doubt,"  added  she  tim- 
idly, "the  Lord  will  reward  you  for  coming  so  far  to  us !" 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  said  the  clergyman  thoughtfully. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Well,  let  us  do  the  best  we  can :  tell  me  first,  Miss  Merton, 
do  you  think  the  absence  of  a  clergyman  is  regretted  here?" 

"Regretted,  sir !  dear  heart,  what  a  question :  you  might  as 
well  ask  me,  do  father's  turnips  long  for  rain  after  a  month's 
drought;"  and  Susan  turned  on  her  visitor  a  face  into  which 
the  innocent  venerating  love  her  sex  have  for  an  ecclesiastic 
flashed  without  disguise. 

Her  companion  smiled,  but  it  was  with  benevolence,  not 
with  gratified  vanity. 

"Let  me  now  explain  my  visit.  Your  father  is  one  of  the 
principal  people  in  the  village.  He  can  assist  me  or  thwart 
me  in  my  work.  I  called  to  invite  his  co-operation.  Some 
clergymen  are  jealous  of  co-operation;  I  am  not:  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  all  parties ;  best  of  all  for  those  who  co-operate  with 
us ;  for  in  giving  alms  wisely  they  receive  grace,  and  in  teach- 
ing the  ignorant  they  learn  themselves.  Am  I  right?"  added 
he  rather  sharply,  turning  suddenly  upon  Susan. 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Susan,  a  little  startled,  "it  is  for  me  to  re- 
ceive your  words,  not  to  judge  them." 

"Humph !"  said  the  reverend  gentleman  rather  drily ;  he 
hated  intellectual  subserviency  :  he  liked  people  to  think  for 
themselves ;  and  to  end  by  thinking  with  him. 

"Father  will  never  thwart  you,  sir,  and  I — I  will  co-operate 
with  you,  sir,  if  you  will  accept  of  me,"  said  Susan  inno- 
cently. 

"Thank  you,  then  let  us  begin  at  once."  He  took  out  his 
watch.  "I  have  an  hour  and  a  half  to  spare,  then  I  must 
gallop  back  to  Oxford.  Miss  Merton,  I  should  like  to  make 
acquaintance  with  some  of  the  people.  Suppose  we  go  to  the 
school,  and  see  what  the  children  are  learning;  and  then  visit 
one  or  two  families  in  the  village,  so  I  shall  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  three  generations  I  have  to  deal  with.  My  name  is 
Francis  Eden.     You  are  going  to  get  your  bonnet?" 

"Yes,  sir." 
'  "Thank  you." 

They  passed  out  through  the  garden.  Mr.  Eden  stopped 
to  look  at  the  flowers.     Susan  coloured. 

"It  has  been  rather  neglected  of  late,"  said  she  apologet- 
ically. 

"It  must  have  been  very  well  taken  care  of  before,  then," 

74 


^ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

said  he,  "for  it  looks  charming  now.  Ah !  I  love  flowers 
dearly !"  and  he  gave  a  little  sigh. 

They  reached  the  school,  and  Mr.  Eden  sat  down  and  ex- 
I  amined  the  little  boys  and  girls.  When  he  sat  down,  Susan 
i  winced.  How  angry  he  will  be  at  their  ignorance !  thought 
Susan.  But  Mr.  Eden,  instead  of  putting  on  an  awful  look, 
and  impressing  on  the  children  that  a  being  of  another  gen- 
eration was  about  to  attack  them,  made  himself  young  to  meet 
their  minds.  A  pleasant  smile  disarmed  their  fears.  He 
spoke  to  them  in  very  simple  words  and  childish  idioms,  and 
told  them  a  pretty  story,  which  interested  them  mightily. 
Having  set  their  minds  really  working,  he  put  questions  aris- 
ing fairly  out  of  his  story,  and  so  fathomed  the  moral  sense 
and  the  intelligence  of  more  than  one.  In  short,  he  drew  the 
brats  out  instead  of  crushing  them  in.  Susan  stood  by,  at 
first  startled  at  the  line  he  took,  then  observant,  then  approv- 
ing.    Presently  he  turned  to  her. 

"And  which  is  your  class.  Miss  Merton?" 

Susan  coloured. 

"I  take  these  little  girls  when  I  come,  sir." 

"Miss  Merton  has  not  been  here  this  fortnight,"  said  a  pert 
teacher. 

Susan  could  have  beat  her.  What  will  this  good  man  think 
of  me  now  ?  thought  poor  Susan. 

To  her  grateful  relief,  the  good  man  took  no  notice  of  the 
observation ;  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Now.  Miss  Merton,  if  I  am  not  giving  you  too  much 
trouble ;"  and  they  left  the  school. 

"You  wish  to  see  some  of  the  folk  in  the  village,  sir?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  shall  I  take  you  first,  sir?" 

"Where  I  ought  to  go  first." 

Susan  looked  puzzled. 

Mr.  Eden  stopped  dead  short. 

"Come,  guess,"  said  he,  with  a  rediant  smile,  "and 
don't  look  so  scared.  I'll  forgive  you  if  you  guess 
wrong." 

Susan  looked  this  way  and  that,  encouraged  by  his  merry 
smile.  She  let  out — scarce  above  a  whisper,  and  in  a  tone  of 
interrogation,  as  who  should  say  this  is  not  to  be  my  last 

75 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

chance  since  I  have  only  asked  a  question  not  risked  an  an- 
swer— 

"To  the  poorest,  Mr.  Eden?" 

"Brava !  she  has  guessed  it,"  cried  the  Reverend  Frank 
triumphantly ;  for  he  had  been  more  anxious  she  should  an- 
swer right  than  she  had  herself.  "Young  lady,  I  have 
friends  with  their  heads  full  of  Latin  and  Greek  who  could 
not  have  answered  that  so  quickly  as  you ;  one  proof  more 
how  goodness  brightens  intelligence,"  added  he  in  soliloquy. 
"Here's  a  cottage." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  was  going  to  take  you  into  this  one,  if  you 
please." 

They  found  in  the  cottage  a  rheumatic  old  man,  one  of 
those  we  alluded  to  as  full  of  his  own  complaints.  Mr,  Eden 
heard  these  with  patience,  and  then,  after  a  few  words  of 
kind  sympathy  and  acquiescence,  for  he  was  none  of  those 
hard  humbugs  who  tell  a  man  that  old  age,  rheumatism,  and 
poverty  are  strokes  with  a  feather,  he  said  quietly — 

"And  now  for  the  other  side;  now  tell  me  what  you  have 
to  be  grateful  for." 

The  old  man  was  taken  aback,  and  his  fluency  deserted 
him.  On  the  question  being  repeated,  he  began  to  say  that  he 
had  many  mercies  to  be  thankful  for.  Then  he  higgled  and 
hammered  and  fumbled  for  the  said  mercies,  and  tried  to 
enumerate  them,  but  in  phrases  conventional  and  derived 
from  tracts  and  sermons ;  whereas  his  statement  of  grievances 
had  been  idiomatic. 

"There,  that  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  smiling,  "say  noth- 
ing you  don't  feel ;  what  is  the  use  ?  May  I  ask  you  a  few 
questions  ?"  added  he  courteously ;  then,  without  waiting  for 
permission,  he  dived  skilfully  into  this  man's  life,  and  fished 
up  all  the  pearls — the  more  remarkable  passages. 

Many  years  ago  this  old  man  had  been  a  soldier,  had 
fought  in  more  than  one  great  battle,  had  retreated  with  Sir 
John  Moore  upon  Corunna,  and  been  one  of  the  battered 
and  weary  but  invincible  band,  who  wheeled  round  and 
stunned  the  pursuers  on  that  bloody  and  glorious  day.  Mr. 
Eden  went  with  the  old  man  to  Spain,  discussed  with  great 
animation  the  retreat,  the  battle,  the  position  of  the  forces, 
and  the  old  soldier's  personal  prowess.     Old  Giles  perked  up, 

7^ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   AiEND 

and  dilated,  and  was  another  man ;  he  forgot  his  rheumatism, 
and  even  his  old  age.  Twice  he  suddenly  stood  upright  as  a 
dart  on  the  floor,  and  gave  the  word  of  command  like  a  trum- 
pet in  some  brave  captain's  name ;  and  his  cheek  flushed,  and 
his  eye  glittered  with  the  light  of  battle.  Susan  looked  at 
him  with  astonishment.  Then  when  his  heart  was  warm  and 
his  spirits  attentive,  Air.  Eden  began  to  throw  in  a  few 
words  of  exhortation.  But  even  then  he  did  not  bully  the 
man  into  being  a  Christian ;  gently,  firmly,  and  with  a  win- 
ning modesty,  he  said,  'T  think  you  have  much  to  be  thank- 
ful for,  like  all  the  rest  of  us.  Is  it  not  a  mercy  you  were 
not  cut  off  in  your  wild  and  dissolute  youth?  You  might 
have  been  slain  in  battle." 

"That  I  might,  sir;  three  of  us  went  from  this  parish,  and 
only  one  came  home  again." 

"You  might  have  lost  a  leg  or  an  arm,  as  many  a  brave 
fellow  did ;  you  might  have  been  a  cripple  all  your  days." 

"That  is  true,  sir." 

"You  survive  here  in  a  Christian  land,  in  possession  of  your 
faculties ;  the  world,  it  is  true,  has  but  few  pleasures  to  offer 
you — all  the  better  for  you.  Oh,  if  I  could  but  make  that 
as  plain  to  you  as  it  is  to  me.  You  have  every  encourage- 
ment to  look  for  happiness  there,  where  alone  it  is  to  be 
found.  Then  courage,  corporal ;  you  stood  firm  at  Corunna 
— do  not  give  way  in  this  your  last  and  most  glorious  battle. 
The  stake  is  greater  than  it  was  at  Vittoria,  or  Salamanca,  or 
Corunna,  or  Waterloo.  The  eternal  welfare  of  a  single 
human  soul  weighs  a  thousand  times  more  than  all  the  crowns 
and  empires  in  the  globe.  You  are  in  danger,  sir.  Discon- 
tent is  a  great  enemy  of  the  soul.  You  must  pray  against  it 
— you  must  fight  against  it." 

"And  so  I  will,  sir ;  you  see  if  I  don't." 

"You  read,  Mr.  Giles?"  Susan  had  told  Mr.  Eden  his 
name  at  the  threshold. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  can't  abide  them  nasty  little  prints  they 
bring  me." 

"Of  course  you  can't.  Printed  to  sell,  not  to  read,  eh? 
Here  is  a  book.  The  type  is  large,  clear,  and  sharp.  This  is 
an  order-book,  corporal.  It  comes  from  the  great  Captain  of 
our  salvation.     Every  sentence  in  it  is  gold ;  yet  I  think  I  may 

77 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

safely  pick  out  a  few  for  your  especial  use  at  present."  And 
Mr.  Eden  sat  down ;  and  producing  from  his  side  pockets, 
which  were  very  profound,  some  long,  thin  slips  of  paper, 
he  rapidly  turned  the  leaves  of  the  Testament  and  inserted 
his  markers ;  but  this  occupation  did  not  for  a  moment  inter- 
rupt his  other  proceedings. 

"There  is  a  pipe — you  don't  smoke,  I  hope?" 

"No,  sir;  leastways  not  when  I  han't  got  any  baccy,  and 
I've  been  out  of  that  this  three  days,  worse  luck." 

"Give  up  smoking,  corporal;  it  is  a  foul  habit." 

"Ah,  sir !  you  don't  ever  have  a  half-empty  belly  and  a  sor- 
rowful heart,  or  you  wouldn't  tell  an  old  soldier  to  give  up 
his  pipe." 

"Take  my  advice.  Give  up  all  such  false  consolation,  to 
oblige  me,  now." 

"Well,  sir,  to  oblige  you,  I'll  try ;  but  you  don't  know  what 
his  pipe  is  to  a  poor  old  man  full  of  nothing  but  aches  and 
pains,  or  you  wouldn't  have  asked  me,"  and  old  Giles  sighed. 
Susan  sighed,  too,  for  she  thought  Mr.  Eden  cruel  for 
once. 

"Miss  Merton,"  said  the  latter  sternly,  his  eye  twinkling 
all  the  time,  "he  is  incorrigible ;  and  I  see  you  agree  with  me 
that  it  is  idle  to  torment  the  incurable.  So"  (diving  into  the 
capacious  pocket)  "here  is  an  ounce  of  his  beloved  poison," 
and  out  came  a  paper  of  tobacco.  Corporal's  eyes  brightened 
with  surprise  and  satisfaction.  "Poison  him,  Miss  Merton, 
poison  him  quick,  don't  keep  him  waiting." 

"Poison  him^  sir?" 

"Fill  his  pipe  for  him,  if  you  please." 

"That  I  will,  sir,  with  pleasure."  A  white  hand,  with 
quick  and  supple  fingers,  filled  the  brown  pipe. 

"That  is  as  it  should  be ;  let  beauty  pay  honour  to  courage 
— above  all,  to  courage  in  its  decay." 

The  old  man  grinned  with  gratified  pride.  The  white 
hand  lighted  the  pipe  and  gave  it  to  the  old  soldier.  He 
smiled  gratefully  all  round,  and  sucked  his  homely  consola- 
tion. 

"I  compound  with  you,  corporal.  You  must  let  me  put 
you  on  the  road  to  heaven,  and,  in  return,  I  must  let  you  go 
there  in  a  cloud  of  tobacco — ugh !" 

78 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Fm  agreeable,  sir,"  said  Giles  drily,  withdrawing  his  pipe 
for  a  moment. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  closing  the  marked  Testament, 
"read  often  in  this  book.  Read  first  the  verses  I  have 
marked,  for  these  very  verses  have  dropped  comfort  on  the 
poor,  the  aged,  and  the  distressed  for  more  than  eighteen 
hundred  years,  and  will  till  time  shall  be  no  more.  And  now 
good-bye,  and  God  bless  you." 

"God  bless  you,  sir,  wherever  you  go !"  cried  the  old  man 
with  sudden  energy,  "for  you  have  comforted  my  poor  old 
heart.  I  feel  as  I  han't  felt  this  many  a  day ;  your  words  are 
like  the  bugles  sounding  a  charge  all  down  the  line.  You 
must  go,  I  suppose ;  but  do  you  come  again  and  see  me.  And, 
Miss  Merton,  you  never  come  to  see  me  now,  as  you  used." 

"Miss  Merton  has  her  occupations,  like  the  rest  of  us,"  said 
Mr.  Eden  quickly ;  "but  she  will  come  to  see  you — won't 
she  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir !"  repHed  Susan  hastily.  So  then  they  re- 
turned to  the  farm,  for  Mr.  Eden's  horse  was  in  the  stable. 
At  the  door  they  found  Mr.  Merton. 

"This  is  father,  sir.  Father,  this  is  Mr.  Eden,  that  is  com- 
ing to  take  the  duty  here  for  awhile." 

After  the  ordinary  civilities  Susan  drew  her  father  aside, 
and  exchanging  a  few  words  with  him,  disappeared  into  the 
house.  As  Mr.  Eden  was  mounting  his  horse,  Air.  Merton 
came  forward,  and  invited  him  to  stay  at  his  house  whenever 
he  should  come  to  the  parish.     Mr.  Eden  hesitated. 

"Sir,"  said  the  farmer,  "you  will  find  no  lodgings  comfort- 
able within  a  mile  of  the  church,  and  we  have  a  large  house 
not  half  occupied.     You  can  make  yourself  quite  at  home." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Merton,  but  must  not  tres- 
pass too  far  upon  your  courtesy." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  the  farmer,  "we  shall  feel  proud  if  you 
can  put  up  with  the  like  of  us." 

"I  will  come.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  and  to  your 
daughter." 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  bade  the  farmer  good  miorning. 
Susan  came  out  and  stood  on  the  steps  and  curtsied  low — 
rustic  fashion — but  with  a  grace  of  her  own.  He  took  off 
his  hat  to  her  as  he  rode  out  of  the  gate,  gave  her  a  sweet 

79 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

bright  smile  of  adieu,  and  went  down  the  lane  fourteen  miles 
an  hour.  Old  Giles  was  seated  outside  his  own  door  with  a 
pipe  and  a  book.  At  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  he  looked  up, 
and  recognised  his  visitor,  whom  he  had  seen  pass  in  the 
morning.  He  rose  up  erect  and  saluted  him,  by  bringing  his 
thumb  with  a  military  wave  to  his  forehead.  Mr.  Eden  sa- 
luted him  in  the  same  manner,  but  without  stopping.  The 
old  soldier  sat  down  again,  and  read  and  smoked.  The  pipe 
ended — that  solace  was  not  of  an  immortal  kind — but  the 
book  remained ;  he  read  it  calmly  but  earnestly  in  the  warm 
air  till  day  declined. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  next  Saturday  Susan  was  busy  preparing  two  rooms 
for  Mr.  Eden — a  homely  but  bright  bed-room  looking 
eastward,  and  a  snug  room  where  he  could  be  quiet  down- 
stairs. Snowy  sheets  and  curtains  and  toilet-cover  showed 
the  good  housewife.  The  windows  were  open,  and  a  beauti- 
ful nosegay  of  Susan's  flowers  on  the  table.  Mr.  Eden's  eye 
brightened  at  the  comfort,  neatness,  and  freshness  of  the 
whole  thing;  and  Susan,  who  watched  him  furtively,  felt 
pleased  to  see  him  pleased. 

On  Sunday  he  preached  in  the  parish  church.  The  sermon 
was  opposite  to  what  the  good  people  here  had  been  subject 
to ;  instead  of  the  vague  and  cold  generalities  of  an  English 
sermon,  he  drove  home-truths  home  in  business-like  English. 
He  used  a  good  many  illustrations,  and  these  were  drawn 
from  matters  with  which  this  particular  congregation  were 
conversant.  He  was  as  full  of  similes  here  as  he  was  sparing 
of  them  when  he  preached  before  the  University  of  Oxford. 
Any  one  who  had  read  this  sermon  in  a  book  of  sermons 
would  have  divined  what  sort  of  congregation  it  was  preached 
to — a  primrose  of  a  sermon.  Mr.  Eden  preached  from  notes 
and  to  the  people — not  the  air.  Like  every  born  orator,  he 
felt  his  way  with  his  audience,  whereas  the  preacher,  who  is 
not  an  orator,  throws  out  his  fine  things,  hit  or  miss,  and  does 
not  know  and  feel  and  care  whether  he  is  hitting  or  missing. 
"Open  your  hand,  shut  vour  eves,  and  fling  out  the  good 

80  ■ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   }.IEXD 

seed  so  much  per  foot — that  is  enough."  No.  This  man 
preached  to  the  faces  and  hearts  that  happened  to  be  round 
him.  He  established  between  himself  and  them  a  pulse, 
every  throb  of  which  he  felt  and  followed.  If  he  could  not 
get  hold  of  them  one  way,  he  tried  another,  he  would  have 
them — he  was  not  there  to  fail.  His  discourse  was  human ; 
it  was  man  speaking  to  man  on  the  most  vital  and  interesting 
topic  in  the  world  or  out  of  it ;  it  was  more,  it  was  brother 
speaking  to  brother.  Hence  some  singular  phenomena : — 
First,  when  he  gave  the  blessing  (which  is  a  great  piece  of 
eloquence  commonly  reduced  to  a  very  small  one  by  monoto- 
nous or  feeble  delivery),  and  uttered  it,  like  his  discourse, 
with  solemnity,  warmth,  tenderness,  and  all  his  soul,  the  peo- 
ple lingered  some  moments  in  the  church  and  seemed  unwill- 
ing to  go  at  all.  Second,  nobody  mistook  their  pew  for  their 
four-poster  during  the  sermon.  This  was  the  more  remark- 
able, as  many  of  the  congregation  had  formed  a  steady  habit 
of  coming  to  this  place  once  a  week  with  the  single  view  of 
snatching  an  hour's  repose  from  earthly  and  heavenly 
cares. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Eden  visited  some  of  the  poorest 
people  in  the  parish.  Susan  accompanied  him,  all  eyes  and 
ears ;  she  observed  that  his  line  was  not  to  begin  by  dictating 
his  own  topic,  but  lie  in  wait  for  them ;  let  them  first  choose 
their  favourite  theme,  and  so  meet  them  on  this  ground,  and 
bring  religion  to  bear  on  it.  "Oh,  how  wise  he  is !"  thought 
Susan,  "and  how  he  knows  the  heart !" 

One  Sunday  evening,  three  weeks  after  his  first  official 
visit,  he  had  been  by  himself  to  see  some  of  the  poor  people, 
and  on  his  return  found  Susan  alone.  He  sat  down  and  gave 
an  account  of  his  visits. 

"How  many  ounces  of  tea  and  tobacco  did  you  give  away, 
sir?"  asked  Susan,  with  an  arch  smile. 

"Four  tea,  two  tobacco,"  replied  the  reverend  gentleman. 

"I  do  notice,  sir,  you  never  carry  gingerbread  or  the  like 
for  the  children." 

"No ;  the  young  don't  want  lollypops,  for  they  have  youth. 
Old  age-  wants  everything,  so  the  old  are  my  children,  and  I 
tea  and  tobacco  them." 

After  this  there  was  a  pause. 

«  8i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Miss  Merton,  you  have  shown  me  many  persons  who 
need  consolation,  but  there  is  one  you  say  nothing  about." 

"Have  I,  sir?  Who?  Oh,  I  think  I  know.  Old  dame 
Clayton  ?" 

"No,  it  is  a  young  demoiselle." 

"Then  I  don't  know  who  it  can  be." 

"Guess." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Susan,  looking  down. 

"It  is  yourself,  Miss  Merton." 

"Me,  sir!     Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  me?" 

"That  you  shall  tell  me,  if  you  think  me  worthy  of  your 
confidence." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir.  I  have  my  little  crosses,  no  doubt, 
like  all  the  world ;  but  I  have  health  and  strength ;  I  have  mv 
father." 

"My  child,  you  are  in  trouble.  You  were  crying  when  I 
came  in." 

"Indeed  I  was  not,  sir! — how  did  you  know  I  was  crying?" 

"When  I  came  in  you  turned  your  back  to  me,  instead  of 
facing  me,  which  is  more  natural  when  any  one  enters  a 
room;  and  soon  after  you  made  an  excuse  for  leaving  the 
room,  and  when  you  came  back  there  was  a  drop  of  water 
in  your  right  eyelash." 

"It  need  not  have  been  a  tear,  sir !" 

"It  was  not :  it  was  water ;  you  had  been  removing  the 
traces  of  tears." 

"Girls  are  mostly  always  crying,  sir,  often  they  don't  know 
for  why,  but  they  don't  care  to  have  it  noticed  always." 

"Nor  would  it  be  polite  or  generous ;  but  this  of  yours  is 
a  deep  grief,  and  alarms  me  for  you.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  I 
know  ?  You  often  yawn  and  often  sigh ;  when  these  two 
things  come  together  at  your  age  they  are  signs  of  a  heavy 
grief ;  then  it  comes  out  that  you  have  lost  your  relish  for 
things  that  once  pleased  you.  The  first  day  I  came  here  you 
told  me  your  garden  had  been  neglected  of  late,  and  you 
blushed  in  saying  so.  Old  Giles  and  others  asked  you  before 
me  why  you  had  given  up  visiting  them ;  you  coloured  and 
looked  down.  I  could  almost  have  told  them,  but  that  would 
have  made  you  uncomfortable.  You  are  in  grief,  and  no 
common  grief." 

82 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Nothing  worth  speaking  to  you  about,  sir;  nothing  I  will 
ever  complain  of  to  any  one." 

"There  I  think  you  are  wrong;  religion  has  consoled  many 
griefs ;  great  griefs  admit  of  no  other  consolation.  The 
sweetest  exercise  of  my  office  is  to  comfort  the  heavy  hearted. 
Your  heart  is  heavy,,  mv  poor  Iamb — tell  me — what  is 
it?" 

"It  is  nothing,  sir,  that  you  would  understand ;  you  are 
very  skilled,  and  notice-taking,  as  well  as  good,  but  you  are 
not  a  woman,  and  you  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  beg  you  not 
to  question  me  further  on  what  would  not  interest  you." 

Mr.  Eden  looked  at  her  compassionately,  and  merely  said 
to  her  again,  "What  is  it  ?"  in  a  low  tone  of  ineffable  tender- 
ness. 

At  this  Susan  looked  in  a  scared  manner  this  way  and  that. 
"Sir,  do  not  ask  me,  pray  do  not  ask  me  so;"  then  she  sud- 
denly lifted  her  hands,  "My  George  is  gone  across  the  sea ! 
What  shall  I  do !  what  shall  I  do ! !"  and  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  apron. 

This  burst  of  pure  Nature — this  simple  cry  of  a  suffering 
heart — was  very  touching ;  and  Mr.  Eden,  spite  of  his  many 
experiences,  was  not  a  little  moved.  He  sat  silent  looking  on 
her  as  an  angel  might  be  supposed  to  look  upon  human  griefs, 
and  as  he  looked  on  her  various  expressions  chased  one  an- 
other across  that  eloquent  face.  Sweet  and  tender  memories 
and  regrets  were  not  wanting  amongst  them.  After  a  long 
pause  he  spoke  in  a  tone  soft  and  gentle  as  a  woman's,  and  at 
first  in  a  voice  so  faltering,  that  Susan,  though  her  face  was 
Ijidden,  felt  there  was  no  common  sympathy  there,  and  si- 
lently put  out  her  hand  towards  it. 

He  murmured  consolation.  He  said  many  gentle,  soothing 
things.  He  told  her  that  it  was  sad — very  sad  the  immense 
ocean  should  roll  between  two  loving  hearts,  "but,"  said  he, 
"there  are  barriers  more  impassable  than  the  sea.  Better  so 
than  that  he  should  be  here  and  jealousy,  mistrust,  caprice,  or 
even  temper  come  between  you.  I  hope  he  will  come  back; 
I  think  he  will  come  back." 

She  blessed  him  for  saying  so.  She  was  learning  to  be- 
lieve everything  this  man  uttered. 

Frotn  consolation  he  passed  to  advice — 

83 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"You  must  do  the  exact  opposite  of  what  you  have  been 
doing." 

"Must  I  ?" 

"You  must  visit  those  poor  people ;  ay,  more  than  ever  you 
did ;  hear  patiently  their  griefs ;  do  not  expect  much  in  return, 
neither  sympathy  nor  a  great  deal  of  gratitude ;  vulgar  sorrow 
is  selfish.  Do  it  for  God's  sake  and  your  own  single-heart- 
edly. Go  to  the  school,  return  to  your  flowers,  and  never 
shun  innocent  society,  however  dull.  IVIilk  and  water  is  a 
poor  thing,  but  it  is  a  diluent,  and  all  we  can  do  just  now  is 
to  dilute  your  grief." 

He  made  her  promise :  "Next  time  I  come,  tell  me  all 
about  you  and  George.  Give  sorrow  words,  the  grief  that 
does  not  speak  whispers  the  o'erfraught  heart  and  bids  it 
break." 

"Oh !  that  is  a  true  word,"  sobbed  Susan,  "that  is  very 
true.  Why,  a  little  of  the  lead  seems  to  have  dropped  off 
my  heart  now  I  have  spoken  to  you,  sir." 

All  the  next  week  Susan  bore  up  as  bravely  as  she  could, 
and  did  what  Mr.  Eden  had  bade  her,  and  profited  by  his 
example.  She  learned  to  draw  from  others  the  full  history 
of  their  woes ;  and  she  found  that  many  a  grief  bitter  as  her 
own  had  passed  over  the  dwellers  in  those  small  cottages ;  it 
did  her  some  little  good  to  discover  kindred  woes,  and  much 
good  to  go  out  of  herself  awhile  and  pity  them. 

This  drooping  flower  recovered  her  head  a  little,  but  still 
the  sweetest  hour  in  all  the  working  days  of  the  week  was 
that  which  brought  John  Meadows  to  talk  to  her  of  Australia. 


CHAPTER   VIIL 

SUSAN  MERTON  had  two  unfavoured  lovers ;  it  is  well 
to  observe  how  diflFerently  these  two  behaved.  William 
Fielding  stayed  at  home,  threw  his  whole  soul  into  his  farm, 
and  seldom  went  near  the  woman  he  loved  but  had  no  right 
to  love.  Meadows  dangled  about  the  flame ;  ashamed  and 
afraid  to  own  his  love,  he  fed  it  to  a  prodigious  height  by 
encouraging  it  and  not  expressing  it.  William  Fielding  was 
moody  and  cross  and  sad  enough  at  times;  but  at  others,  a 

84 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

little  spark  ignited  inside  his  heart,  and  a  warm  glow  diffused 
itself  from  that  small  point  over  all  his  being.  I  think  this 
spark  igniting  was  an  approving  conscience  commencing  its 
uphill  work  of  making  a  disappointed  love,  but  honest  man 
content. 

Meadows  on  his  part  began  to  feel  content  and  a  certain 
complacency  take  the  place  of  his  stormy  feelings.  Twice  a 
week  he  passed  two  hours  with  Susan.  She  always  greeted 
him  with  a  smile,  and  naturally  showed  an  innocent  satisfac- 
tion in  these  visits,  managed  as  they  were  with  so  much  art 
and  self-restraint.  On  Sunday,  too,  he  had  always  a  word  or 
two  with  her. 

Meadows,  though  an  observer  of  rehgious  forms,  had  the 
character  of  a  very  worldly  man,  and  Susan  thought  it  highly 
to  his  credit  that  he  came  six  miles  to  hear  Mr.  Eden. 

"But,  Mr,  Meadows,  your  poor  horse,"  said  she,  one  day. 
"I  doubt  it  is  no  Sabbath  to  him  now." 

"No  more  it  is,"  said  Meadows,  as  if  a  new  light  came  to 
him  from  Susan.  The  next  Sunday  he  appeared  in  dusty 
shoes,  instead  of  top-boots. 

Susan  looked  down  at  them,  and  saw,  and  said  nothing,  but 
she  smiled.  Her  love  of  goodness  and  her  vanity  were  both 
gratified  a  little. 

Meadows  did  not  stop  there ;  wherever  Susan  went  he  fol- 
lowed modestly  in  her  steps.  Nor  was  this  mere  cunning. 
He  loved  her  quite  well  enough  to  imitate  her,  and  try  and 
feel  with  her ;  and  he  began  to  be  kinder  to  the  poor,  and  to 
feel  good  all  over,  and  comfortable.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  not 
an  enemy  in  the  world.  One  day  in  Farnborough  he  saw 
William  Fielding  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  Susan  Mer- 
ton  did  not  love  William,  therefore  Meadows  had  no  cause 
to  hate  him.  He  remembered  William  had  asked  a  loan  of 
him  and  he  had  declined.     He  crossed  over  to  him. 

"Good  day,  Mr.  WilHam." 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"You  were  speaking  to  me  one  day  about  a  trifling  loan. 
I  could  not  manage  it  just  then,  but  now "  Here  Mead- 
ows paused.  He  had  been  on  the  point  of  offering  the 
money,  but  suddenly,  by  one  of  those  instincts  of  foresight 
these  able  men  have,  he  turned  it  off  thus :  "but  I  know  who 

85 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

will.  You  go  to  Lawyer  Crawley ;  he  lends  money  to  people 
of  credit." 

"I  know  he  does ;  but  he  won't  lend  it  me." 

"Why  not  ?" 

"He  does  not  like  us.  He  is  a  poor  sneaking  creature; 
and  my  brother  George  he  caught  Crawley  selling  up  some 
poor  fellow  or  other,  and  they  had  words ;  leastways  it  went 
beyond  words,  I  fancy.  I  don't  know  the  rights  of  it,  but 
George  was  a  little  rough  with  him  by  all  accounts." 

"And  what  has  that  to  do  with  this?"  said  the  man  of 
business  coolly. 

"Why,  I  am  George's  brother." 

"And  if  you  were  George  himself,  and  he  saw  his  way  to 
make  a  shilling  out  of  you  he  would  do  it,  wouldn't  he? 
There,  you  go  to  Crawley  and  ask  him  to  lend  you  one  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  he  will  lend  it  you,  only  he  will  make  you 
pay  heavy  interest,  heavier  than  I  should,  you  know,  if  I 
could  manage  it  myself." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,"  said  simple  William ;  "thank  you  kind- 
ly, Mr.  Meadows,"  and  off  he  went  to  Crawley. 

He  found  that  worthy  in  his  office.  Crawley,  who  in- 
stantly guessed  his  errand,  and  had  no  instructions  from 
Meadows,  promised  himself  the  satisfaction  of  refusing  the 
young  man.  He  asked  with  a  cringing  manner  and  a  treach- 
erous smile,  "What  security,  sir?" 

Poor  William  higgled  and  hammered,  and  offered  first  one 
thing,  which  was  blandly  declined  for  this  reason ;  then  an- 
other, which  was  blandly  declined  for  that,  Crawley  drinking 
deep  draughts  of  mean  vengeance  all  the  while  from  the 
young  man's  shame  and  mortification,  when  the  door  opened, 
a  man  walked  in.  and  gave  Crawley  a  note,  and  vanished. 
Crawley  opened  the  note ;  it  contained  a  cheque  drawn  by 
Meadows,  and  these  words :  "Lend  W.  F.  the  money  at  ten 
per  cent,  on  his  acceptance  of  your  draft  at  two  months." 
Crawley  put  the  note  and  cheque  in  his  pocket. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he  to  William,  "you  stay  here,  and  I  will 
see  if  I  have  got  a  loose  hundred  in  the  bank  to  spare."  He 
went  oyer  to  the  bank,  cashed  the  cheque,  drew  a  bill  of  ex- 
change at  two  months'  date,  deducted  the  interest  and  stamp, 
and  William  accepted  it,  and  Crawlev  bowed  him  out,  cring- 

86 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ing,  smiling,  and  secretly  shooting  poisoned  arrows  out  of 
his  venomous  eye  in  the  direction  of  Wilham's  heels. 

William  thanked  him  warmly. 

This  loan  made  him  feel  happy. 

He  had  paid  his  brother's  debt  to  the  landlord  by  sacrificing 
a  large  portion  of  his  grain  at  a  time  the  price  was  low ;  and 
now  he  was  so  cramped  he  had  much  ado  to  pay  his  labour 
when  this  loan  came.  The  very  next  day  he  bought  several 
hogs ; — hogs,  as  George  had  sarcastically  observed,  were 
William  Fielding's  hobby ;  he  had  confidence  in  that  animal. 
Potatoes  and  pigs  versus  sheep  and  turnips  was  the  theory  of 
William.  Fielding. 

Now  the  good  understanding  between  William  and  Mead- 
ows was  not  to  last  long.  William,  though  he  was  too  wise 
to  visit  Grassmere  Farm  much,  was  mindful  of  his  promise 
to  George,  and  used  to  make  occasional  inquiries  after  Susan. 
He  heard  that  Meadows  called  at  the  farm  twice  a  week,  and 
he  thought  it  a  little  odd.  He  pondered  on  it,  but  did  not 
quite  go  the  length  of  suspecting  anything,  still  less  of  sus- 
pecting Susan.  Still  he  thought  it  odd,  but  he  thought  it 
odder,  when  one  market-day  old  Isaac  Levi  said  to  him — 

"Do  you  remember  the  promise  you  made  to  the  lion- 
hearted  young  man  your  brother?" 

"Do  you  ask  that  to  affront  me  ?" 

"You  never  visit  her;  and  others  are  not  so  neglectful." 

"Who?" 

"Go  this  evening  and  you  will  see." 

"Yes,  I  will  go,  and  I  will  soon  see  if  there  is  anything  in 
it,"  said  William,  not  stopping  even  to  inquire  why  the  old 
Jew  took  all  this  interest  in  the  affair. 

That  evening,  as  Meadows  was  in  the  middle  of  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  town  of  Sydney,  Susan  started  up.  "Why  here  is 
William  Fielding!"  and  she  ran  out  and  welcomed  him  in 
with  much  cordiality,  perhaps  with  some  excess  of  cordiality. 

William  came  in,  and  saluted  the  farmer  and  Meadows  in 
his  dogged  way.  Meadows  was  not  best  pleased,  but  kept  his 
temper  admirably,  and  leaving  Australia,  engaged  both  the 
farmers  in  a  conversation  on  home  topics.  Susan  looked 
disappointed.  Meadows  was  content  with  that,  and  the  party 
separated  half  an  hour  sooner  than  usual. 

87 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  next  market  evening  in  strolls  William ;  Meadows 
again  plays  the  same  game.  This  time  Susan  could  hardly 
restrain  her  temper.  She  did  not  want  to  hear  about  the 
Grassmere  acres,  and  "The  Grove,"  and  oxen  and  hogs,  but 
about  something  that  mattered  to  George. 

But  when  the  next  market  evening  William  arrived  before 
Mr.  Meadows,  she  was  downright  provoked  and  gave  him 
short  answers,  which  raised  his  suspicions  and  made  him 
think  he  had  done  wisely  in  coming.  This  evening  Susan 
excused  herself  and  went  to  bed  early. 

She  was  in  Farnborough  the  next  market-day,  and  William 
met  her  and  said — 

"I'll  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  you  to-night,  Susan,  if  you  are 
agreeable." 

"William,"  said  Susan  sharply,  "what  makes  you  always 
come  to  us  on  market-day?" 

"I  don't  know.  What  makes  Mr.  Meadows  come  that 
day?" 

"Because  he  passes  our  house  to  go  to  his  own,  I  suppose ; 
but  you  live  but  two  miles  ofif;  you  can  come  any  day  that 
you  are  minded." 

"Should  I  be  welcome,  Susan?" 

"What  do  you  think.  Will  ?  Speak  your  mind ;  I  don't 
understand  you." 

"Seems  to  me  I  was  not  very  welcome  last  time." 

"If  I  thought  that  I  wouldn't  come  again,"  replied  Susan, 
as  sharp  as  a  needle.  Then  instantly  repenting  a  little,  she 
explained — "You  are  welcome  to  me.  Will,  and  you  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do,  but  I  want  you  to  come  some  other 
evening,  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  you." 

"Why?" 

"Why?  because  I  am  dull  other  evenings,  and  it  would  be 
nice  to  have  a  chat  with  you." 

"Would  it,  Susan?" 

"Of  course  it  would ;  but  that  evening  I  have  company — 
and  he  talks  to  me  of  Australia." 

"Nothing  else?"  sneered  the  unlucky  William. 

Susan  gave  him  such  a  look. 

"And  that  interests  me  more  than  anything  you  can  say  to 
me — if  you  won't  be  ofifended,"  snapped  Susan. 

88 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

William  bit  his  lip. 

"Well,  then,  I  won't  come  this  evening,  eh,  Susan?" 

"No,  don't,  that  is  a  good  soul." 

"Les  femmes  sont  impitoyables  pour  ceux  qu'elles  n'aiment 
pas."  This  is  a  harsh  saying,  and  of  course,  not  pure  truth ; 
but  there  is  a  deal  of  truth  in  it. 

William  was  proud ;  and  the  consciousness  of  his  own  love 
for  her  made  him  less  able  to  persist,  for  he  knew  she  might 
be  so  ungenerous  as  to  retort  if  he  angered  her  too  far.  So 
he  altered  the  direction  of  his  battery.  He  planted  himself 
at  the  gate  of  Grassmere  Farm,  and  as  Meadows  got  off  his 
horse  requested  a  few  words  with  him.  Meadows  ran  him 
over  with  one  lightning  glance,  and  then  the  whole  man  was 
on  the  defensive.     William  bluntly  opened  the  affair. 

"You  heard  me  promise  to  look  on  Susan  as  my  sister,  and 
keep  her  as  she  is  for  my  brother  that  is  far  away." 

"I  heard  you,  Mr,  William,"  said  Meadows,  with  a  smile 
that  provoked  William  as  the  artful  one  intended  it  should. 

"You  come  here  too  often,  sir." 

"Too  often  for  who?" 

"Too  often  for  me,  too  often  for  George,  too  often  for  the 
girl  herself.     I  won't  have  George's  sweetheart  talked  about." 

"You  are  the  first  to  talk  about  her ;  if  there's  scandal  it  is 
of  your  making." 

"I  won't  have  it — at  a  word." 

Meadows  called  out — "Miss  Merton,  will  you  step 
here?" 

William  was  astonished  at  his  audacity ;  he  did  not  know 
his  man. 

Susan  opened  the  parlour-window.  "What  is  it,  Mr. 
Meadows  ?" 

"Will  you  step  here,  if  you  please?"  Susan  came.  "Here 
is  a  young  man  tells  me  I  must  not  call  on  vour  father  or 
you." 

"I  say  you  must  not  do  it  often  enough  to  make  her 
talked  of." 

"Who  dares  to  talk  of  me !"  cried  Susan,  scarlet. 

"Nobody,  Miss  Merton.  Nobody  but  the  young  man  him- 
self; and  so  I  told  him.  Is  your  father  within?  Then  Til 
step  in  and  speak  with  him  anv  wav."     And  the  siv  Mead- 

89 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ows  vanished  to  give  Susan  an  opportunity  of  quarrelling 
with  William  while  she  was  hot. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  came  to  take  such  liberties  with 
me,"  began  Susan,  quite  pale  now  with  anger. 

*Tt  is  for  George's  sake,"  said  William  doggedly. 

"Did  George  bid  you  insult  my  friends  and  me?  I  would 
not  put  up  with  it  from  George  himself,  much  less  from  you. 
I  shall  write  to  George,  and  ask  him  whether  he  wishes  me 
to  be  your  slave." 

"Don't  ye  do  so.  Don't  set  my  brother  against  me,"  re- 
monstrated William  ruefully. 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  home  and  mind  your 
farm,  and  get  a  sweetheart  for  yourself,  and  then  you  won't 
trouble  your  head  about  me  more  than  you  have  any  business 
to  do." 

This  last  cut  wounded  William  to  the  quick. 

"Good  evening,  Susan." 

"Good  evening." 

"Won't  you  shake  hands?" 

"It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  said,  No!  But  I  won't 
make  you  of  so  much  importance  as  you  want  to  be.  There ! 
And  come  again  as  soon  as  ever  you  can  treat  my  friends 
with  respect." 

"I  shan't  trouble  you  again  for  a  while,"  said  William  sad- 
ly.    "Good-bye.     God  bless  you,  Susan  dear." 

When  he  was  gone  the  tears  came  into  Susan's  eyes,  but 
she  was  bitterly  indignant  with  him  for  making  a  scene  about 
her,  which  a  really  modest  girl  hates.  On  her  reaching  the 
parlour  Mr.  Meadows  was  gone  too,  and  that  incensed  her 
still  more  against  William.  "Mr.  Meadows  is  afifronted,  no 
doubt,"  said  she,  "and  of  course  he  would  not  come  here  to 
be  talked  of;  he  would  not  like  that  any  more  than  I.  A 
man  that  comes  here  to  us  out  of  pure  good  nature  and 
nothing  else." 

The  next  market-day  the  deep  Meadows  did  not  come ; 
Susan  missed  him  and  his  talk;  she  had  few  pleasures,  and 
this  was  one  of  them ;  but  the  next  after  he  came  as  usual, 
and  Susan  did  not  conceal  her  satisfaction.  She  was  too  shy 
and  he  too  wise  to  allude  to  William's  interference.  They 
both  ignored  the  poor  fellow  and  his  honest,  clumsy  attempt. 

90 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

William,  discomfited  but  not  convinced,  determined  to  keep 
his  eye  upon  them  both.  "I  swore  it,  and  I'll  do  it,"  said 
this  honest  fellow.  "But  I  can't  face  her  tongue;  it  goes 
through  me  like  a  pitchfork ;  but  as  for  him" — and  he 
clenched  his  fist  most  significantly;  then  he  revolved  one  or 
two  plans  in  his  head,  and  rejected  them  each  in  turn.  At 
last,  a  thought  struck  him — "Mr.  Levi !  he  'twas  that  put  me 
on  my  guard.  I'll  tell  him."  Accordingly,  he  recounted  the 
whole  afifair  and  his  failure  to  Mr.  Levi.  The  old  man  smiled. 
"You  are  no  match  for  either  of  these.  You  have  given  the 
maiden  offence,  just  offence." 

"J"st  offence!  Mr.  Levi.  Now  don't  ye  say  so:  why, 
how  ?" 

"By  your  unskilfulness,  my  son." 

"It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  say  that,  sir,  but  I  can  tell 
you  women  are  kittle  folk — manage  them  who  can.  T  don't 
know  what  to  do,  I'm  sure." 

"Stay  at  home  and  till  the  land,"  replied  Isaac,  somewhat 
drily.     "I  will  go  to  Grassmere  Farm." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

YOU  going  to  leave  us,  Mr.  Eden,  and  going  to  live  in 
a  gaol.  Oh !  Mr.  Eden,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it. 
You  to  be  cooped  up  there  among  thieves  and  rogues,  and 
perhaps  murderers." 

"They  have  the  more  need  of  me." 

"And  you,  who  love  the  air  of  heaven  so;  why,  sir,  I  see 
you  take  off  your  very  hat  at  times  to  enjoy  it  as  you  are 
walking  along;  you  would  be  choked  in  a  prison.  Besides, 
sir,  it  is  only  little  parsons  that  go  there." 

"What  are  little  parsons?" 

"Those  that  are  not  clever  enough  or  good  enough  to  be 
bishops  and  vicars,  and  so  forth ;  not  such  ones  as  you." 

"How  odd !  This  is  exactly  what  the  devil  whispered  in 
my  ear  when  the  question  was  first  raised,  but  I  did  not  ex- 
pect to  find  you  on  his  side." 

"Didn't  you,  sir?  Ah!  well,  if  it  is  your  duty  I  know  I 
may  as  well  hold  my  tongue.     And  then,  such  as  you  are  not 

9'- 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

like  other  folk ;  you  come  like  sunshine  to  some  dark  place, 
and  when  you  have  warmed  it  and  lighted  it  a  bit,  Heaven, 
that  sent  you,  will  have  you  go  and  shine  elsewhere.  You 
came  here,  sir,  you  waked  up  the  impenitent  folk  in  this 
village,  and  comforted  the  distressed,  and  relieved  the  poor, 
and  you  have  saved  one  poor  broken-hearted  girl  from  de- 
spair, from  madness  belike ;  and  now  we  are  not  to  be  selfish, 
we  must  not  hold  you  back,  but  let  you  run  the  race  that  is 
set  before  you,  and  remember  your  words  and  your  deeds, 
and  your  dear  face  and  voice  to  the  last  hour  of  our  lives." 

"And  give  me  the  benefit  of  your  prayers,  little  sister,  do 
not  deny  me  them ;  your  prayers  that  I  may  persevere  to  the 
end.  Ay !  it  is  too  true,  Susan ;  in  this  world  there  is  nothing 
but  meeting  and  parting;  it  is  sad.  We  have  need  to  be 
stout-hearted — stouter-hearted  than  you  are.  But  it  will  not 
always  be  so :  a  few  short  years  and  we  who  have  fought 
the  good  fight  shall  meet  to  part  no  more — to  part  no  more 
— to  part  no  more !" 

As  he  repeated  these  words  half  mechanically,  Susan  could 
see  that  he  had  suddenly  become  scarce  conscious  of  her 
presence :  the  light  of  other  days  was  in  his  eye,  and  his  lips 
moved  inarticulately.  Delicate-minded  Susan  left  him,  and 
with  the  aid  of  the  servant  brought  out  the  tea-things,  and 
set  the  little  table  on  the  grass  square  in  her  garden,  where 
you  could  see  the  western  sun.  And  then  she  came  for  Mr. 
Eden. 

"Come,  sir,  there  is  not  a  breath  of  wind  this  evening,  so 
the  tea-things  are  set  in  the  air.     I  know  you  like  that." 

The  little  party  sat  down  in  the  open  air.  The  butter, 
churned  by  Susan,  was  solidified  cream.  The  bread  not  very 
white,  but  home  made,  juicy,  and  sweet  as  milk.  The  tea 
seemed  to  diffuse  a  more  flowery  flagrance  out  of  doors  than 
it  does  in,  and  to  mix  fraternally  with  the  hundred  odours  of 
Susan's  flowers  that  now  perfumed  the  air,  and  the  whole 
innocent  meal,  unlike  coarse  dinner  or  supper,  mingled  har- 
moniously with  the  scene,  with  the  balmy  air,  the  blue  sky, 
and  the  bright  emerald  grass  sprinkled  with  gold  by  the 
descending  sun.  Farmer  Merton  soon  left  them,  and  then 
Susan  went  in  and  brought  out  pen  and  ink  and  a  large  sheet 
of  paper, 

92 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

Susan  sat  apart  working  with  her  needle,  Mr.  Eden 
sketched  a  sermon  and  sipped  his  tea,  and  now  and  then 
purred  three  words  to  Susan,  who  purred  as  many  in  reply. 
And  yet  over  this  pleasant  scene  there  hung  a  gentle  sadness, 
felt  most  by  Susan,  as  with  head  bent  down  she  plied  her 
needle  in  silence.  "He  will  not  sit  in  my  garden  many  times 
more,  nor  write  many  more  notes  of  sermons  under  my  eye, 
nor  preach  to  us  all  many  more  sermons ;  and  then  he  is  go- 
ing to  a  nasty  gaol,  where  he  won't  have  his  health,  I'm 
doubtful.  And  then  I'm  fearful  he  won't  be  comfortable  in 
his  house,  with  nobody  to  take  care  of  him  that  really  cares 
for  him;  servants  soon  find  out  where  there  is  no  woman  to 
scold  them  as  should  be,  and  he  is  not  the  man  to  take  his 
own  part  against  them."  And  Susan  sighed  at  the  domestic 
prospects  of  her  friend,  and  her  needle  went  slower  and 
slower. 

These  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  servant,  who  an- 
nounced a  visitor.  Susan  laid  down  her  work  and  went  into 
the  parlour,  and  there  found  Isaac  Levi.  She  greeted  him 
with  open  arms  and  heightened  colour,  and  never  for  a  mo- 
ment suspected  that  he  was  come  there  full  of  suspicions 
of  her. 

After  the  first  greeting  a  few  things  of  little  importance 
were  said  on  either  side.  Isaac  watching  to  see  whether  Mr. 
Meadows  had  succeeded  in  supplanting  George,  and  too  cun- 
ning to  lead  the  conversation  that  way  himself,  lay  patiently 
in  wait  like  a  sly  old  fox.  However,  he  soon  found  he  was 
playing  the  politician  superfluously,  for  Susan  laid  bare  her 
whole  heart  to  the  simplest  capacity.  Instead  of  waiting  for 
the  skilful,  subtle,  almost  invisible  cross-examination,  which 
the  descendant  of  Maimonides  was  preparing  for  her,  she 
answered  all  his  questions  before  they  were  asked.  It  came 
out  that  her  thought  by  day  and  night  was  George,  that  she 
had  been  very  dull,  and  very  unhappy.  "But  I  am  better 
now,  Mr.  Levi,  thank  God :  He  has  been  very  good  to  me. 
He  has  sent  me  a  friend,  a  clergyman,  or  an  angel  in  the  dress 
of  one,  I  sometimes  think.  He  knows  all  about  me  and 
George,  sir;  so  that  makes  me  feel  quite  at  home  with  him. 
and  I  can — and  now  Mr.  Meadows  stops  an  hour  on  market- 
days,  and  he  is  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  all  about  Australia,  and 

93 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

you  may  guess  I  like  to  hear  about — Mr.  Levi,  come  and  see 
us  some  market  evening.  Mr.  Meadows  is  capital  company ; 
to  hear  him  you  would  think  he  had  passed  half  his  life  in 
Australia.     Were  you  ever  in  Australia,  sir,  if  you  please?" 

"Never,  but  I  shall." 

"Shall  you,  sir?" 

"Yes ;  the  old  Jew  is  not  to  die  till  he  has  drifted  to  every 
part  in  the  globe.  In  my  old  days  I  shall  go  back  towards 
the  East,  and  there  methinks  I  shall  lay  these  wandering 
bones." 

"Oh,  sir,  inquire  after  George  and  show  him  some  kind- 
ness, and  don't  see  him  wronged — he  is  very  simple.  No ! 
no !  no !  you  are  too  old ;  you  must  not  cross  the  seas  at  your 
age ;  don't  think  of  it ;  stay  quiet  at  home  till  you  leave  us 
for  a  better  world." 

"At  home!"  said  the  old  man  sorrowfully;  "I  have  no 
home.  I  had  a  home,  but  the  man  Meadows  has  driven  me 
out  of  it." 

"Mr.  Meadows?     La,  sir,  as  how?" 

"He  bought  the  house  I  live  in,  and  next  Ladyday,  as  the 
woman  worshipper  calls  it,  he  turns  me  to  the  door." 

"But  he  won't  if  you  ask  him.  He  is  a  very  good-natured 
man.  You  go  and  ask  him  to  be  so  good  as  let  you  stay ;  he 
won't  gainsay  you,  you  take  my  word." 

"Susannah !"  replied  Isaac,  "you  are  good  and  innocent ; 
you  cannot  fathom  the  hearts  of  the  wicked.  This  Meadows 
is  a  man  of  Belial.  I  did  beseech  him ;  I  bowed  these  grey 
hairs  to  him,  to  let  me  stay  in  the  house  where  I  lived  so 
happily  with  my  Leah  twenty  years,  where  my  children  were 
born  to  me  and  died  from  me,  where  my  Leah  consoled  me 
for  their  loss  awhile,  but  took  no  comfort  herself  and  left 
me  too." 

"Poor  old  man!  and  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  refused  me  with  harsh  words.  To  make  the  refusal 
more  bitter  he  insulted  my  religion  and  my  much-enduring 
tribe,  and  at  the  day  appointed  he  turns  me  at  three-score 
years  and  ten  adrift  upon  the  earth." 

"Eh !  dear !  how  hard  the  world  is !"  cried  Susan  ;  "I  had  a 
great  respect  for  Mr.  Meadows,  but  now  if  he  comes  here  I 
know  I  shall  shut  the  door  in  his  face." 

94 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Isaac  reflected.  This  would  not  have  suited  a  certain 
subtle  Eastern  plan  of  vengeance  he  had  formed.  "No !"  said 
he,  "that  is  folly.  Take  not  another  man's  quarrel  on  your 
shoulders.  A  Jew  knows  how  to  revenge  himself  without 
your  aid." 

So  then  her  inquisitor  was  satisfied ;  Australia  really  was 
the  topic  that  made  Meadows  welcome.  He  departed,  re- 
volving oriental  vengeance. 

Smooth  Meadows  at  his  next  visit  removed  the  impression 
excited  against  him,  and  easily  persuaded  Susan  that  Levi 
was  more  in  the  wrong  than  he;  in  which  opinion  she  stood 
firm  till  Levi's  next  visit. 

At  last  she  gave  up  all  hope  of  dijudicating,  and  determined 
to  end  the  matter  by  bringing  them  together  and  making 
them  friends. 

And  now  approached  the  day  of  Mr.  Eden's  departure. 
The  last  sermon — the  last  quiet  tea  in  the  garden.  On  Mon- 
day afternoon  he  was  to  go  to  Oxford,  and  the  following 
week  to  his  new  sphere  of  duties  which  he  had  selected  to  the 
astonishment  of  some  hundred  persons  who  knew  him  super- 
ficially— knew  him  by  his  face,  by  his  pretensions  as  a  scholar, 
a  divine,  and  a  gentleman  of  descent  and  independent  means, 
but  had  not  sounded  his  depths. 

All  Sunday  Susan  sought  every  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  him  even  on  indifferent  matters.  She  was  garnering 
up  his  words,  his  very  syllables,  and  twenty  times  in  the  day 
he  saw  her  eyes  fill  with  tears  apropos  of  such  observations 
as  this — 

"We  shall  have  a  nice  warm  afternoon,  Susan." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  so,  sir ;  the  blackbirds  are  giving  a  chir- 
rup or  two." 

All  Monday  forenoon  Susan  was  very  busy.  There  was 
bread  to  be  baked  and  butter  to  be  made.  Mr.  Eden  must 
take  some  of  each  to  Oxford.  They  would  keep  Grassmere 
in  his  mind  a  day  or  two  longer ;  and  besides  they  were  whole- 
some and  he  was  fond  of  them.  Then  there  was  his  linen  to 
be  looked  over,  and  buttons  sewed  on  for  the  last  time.  Then 
he  must  eat  a  good  dinner  before  he  went,  so  then  he  would 
want  nothing  but  his  tea  when  he  got  to  Oxford ;  and  the 
bread  would  be  fit  to  eat  by  tea-time,  especially  a  small  crusty 

95 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

cake  she  had  made  for  that  purpose.  So  with  all  this  Susan 
was  energetic,  almost  lively;  and  even  when  it  was  all  done 
and  they  were  at  dinner,  her  principal  anxiety  seemed  to  be 
that  he  should  eat  more  than  usual  because  he  was  going  a 
journey.  But  when  all  bustle  of  every  kind  was  over,  and 
the  actual  hour  of  parting  came,  she  suddenly  burst  out  cry- 
ing before  her  father  and  the  servant,  who  bade  her  not  take 
on,  and  instantly  burst  out  crying  too  from  vague  sympathy. 

The  old  farmer  ordered  the  girl  out  of  the  room  directly, 
and  without  the  least  emotion  proceeded  to  make  excuses  to 
Mr.  Eden  for  Susan. 

"A  young  maid's  eyes  soon  flow  over,"  &c. 

Mr.  Eden  interrupted  him. 

"Such  tears  as  these  do  not  scald  the  heart.  I  feel  this 
separation  from  my  dear  kind  friend  as  much  as  she  feels  it. 
But  I  am  more  than  twice  her  age,  and  have  passed  through 
— I  should  feel  it  bitterly  if  I  thought  our  friendship  and 
Christian  love  were  to  end  because  our  path  of  duty  lies  sep- 
arate. But  no,  Susan,  still  look  on  me  as  your  adviser,  your 
elder  brother,  and  in  some  measure  your  pastor.  I  shall 
write  to  you  and  watch  over  you,  though  at  some  distance— 
and  not  so  great  a  distance.  I  am  always  well  horsed,  and  I 
know  you  will  give  me  a  bed  at  Grassmere  once  a  quarter." 

"That  we  will,"  cried  the  farmer  warmly,  "and  proud  and 
happy  to  see  you  cross  the  threshold,  sir." 

"And  Mr.  Merton,  my  new  house  is  large.  I  shall  be 
alone  in  it.  Whenever  you  and  Miss  Merton  have  nothing 
better  to  do,  pray  come  and  visit  me.  I  will  make  you  as 
uncomfortable  as  you  have  made  me  comfortable,  but  as  wel- 
come as  you  have  made  me  welcome." 

"We  will  come,  sir !  we  will  come  some  one  of  these  days, 
and  thank  you  for  the  honour." 

So  Mr.  Eden  went  from  Grassmere  village  and  Grassmere 
farm-house — but  he  left  neither  as  he  found  them ;  fifty  years 
hence  an  old  man  and  woman  or  two  will  speak  to  their 
grandchildren  of  "the  Sower,"  and  Susan  Merton  (if  she  is 
on  earth  then),  of  "the  Good  Physician."  She  may  well  do 
so,  for  it  v;as  no  vulgar  service  he  rendered  h^r — no  vulgar 
malady  he  checked. 

Not  everv  good  man  could  have  penetrated  so  quicklv  a 

96 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

coy  woman's  grief,  nor,  the  wound  found,  have  soothed  her 
fever  and  deadened  her  smart  with  a  hand  as  firm  as  gentle, 
as  gentle  as  firm. 

Such  men  are  human  suns !  They  brighten  and  warm 
wherever  they  pass.  Fools  count  them  mad,  till  death 
wrenches  open  foolish  eyes ;  they  are  not  often  called  "my 
Lord,"^  nor  sung  by  poets  when  they  die ;  but  the  hearts  they 
heal,  and  their  own,  are  their  rich  reward  on  earth,  and  their 
place  is  high  in  heaven. 


CHAPTER    X. 

MR.  MEADOWS  lived  in  a  house  that  he  had  conquered 
three  years  ago  by  lending  money  on  it  at  fair  interest 
in  his  own  name.  Mr.  David  Hall,  the  proprietor,  paid 
neither  principal  nor  interest.  Mr.  Meadows  expected  this 
contingency,  and  therefore  lent  his  money.  He  threatened  to 
foreclose  and  sell  the  house  under  the  hammer ;  to  avoid  this 
Mr.  Hall  said,  "Pay  yourself  the  interest  by  living  rent  free  in 
the  house  till  such  time  as  my  old  aunt  dies,  drat  her,  and 
then  I'll  pay  your  money ;  I  wish  I  had  never  borrowed  it." 
Meadows  acquiesced  with  feigned  reluctance.  "Well,  if  I 
must,  I  must ;  but  let  me  have  my  money  as  soon  as  you  can" 
(aside)  "I  will  end  my  days  in  this  house." 

It  had  many  conveniences :  among  the  rest  a  very  long 
though  narrow  garden  enclosed  within  high  walls ;  at  the  end 
of  the  garden  was  a  door,  which  anybody  could  open  from 
the  inside,  but  from  the  outside  only  by  a  Bramah  key. 

The  access  to  this  part  of  the  premises  was  by  a  short,  nar- 
row lane,  very  dirty,  and  very  little  used,  because,  whatever 
might  have  been  in  old  times,  it  led  now  from  nowhere  to 
nowhere.  Meadows  received  by  this  entrance  one  or  two 
persons  whom  he  never  allowed  to  desecrate  his  knocker.  At 
the  head  of  these  furtive  visitors  was  Peter  Crawley,  attor- 
ney-at-law,  a  gentleman  who  every  New  Year's  Eve  used  to 
say  to  himself  with  a  look  of  gratified  amazement — "Another 
year  gone,  and  I  not  struck  off  the  rolls ! ! !" 

Peter  had  a  Bramah  key  entrusted  to  him. 

'  Sometimes  thought. 

'  97 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

His  visits  to  Mr.  Meadows  were  conducted  thus :  he  opened 
the  garden-gate,  and  looked  up  at  the  window  in  a  certain 
passage.  This  passage  was  not  accessible  to  the  servants,  and 
the  window  with  its  blinds  was  a  signal-book. 

Blinds  up,  Mr.  Meadows  out. 

White  blind  down,  Mr.  Meadows  in. 

Blue  blind  down,  Mr.  Meadows  in,  but  not  alone. 

The  same  key  that  opened  the  garden-door  opened  a  door 
at  the  back  of  the  house  which  led  direct  to  the  passage  above 
mentioned.  On  the  window-seat  lay  a  peculiar  whistle  con- 
structed to  imitate  the  whining  of  a  dog.  Then  Meadows 
would  go  to  his  book-shelves,  which  lined  one  side  of  the 
room,  and  pressing  a  hidden  spring,  open  a  door  that  nobody 
ever  suspected,  for  the  books  came  along  with  it.  To  provide 
for  every  contingency,  there  was  a  small  secret  opening  in 
another  part  of  the  shelves,  by  which  Meadows  could  shoot 
unobserved  a  note  or  the  like  into  the  passage,  and  so  give 
Crawley  instructions  without  dismissing  a  visitor,  if  he  had 
one. 

Meadows  provided  against  surprise  and  discovery.  His 
study  had  double  doors ;  neither  of  them  could  be  opened 
from  the  outside.  His  visitors  or  servants  must  rap  with  an 
iron  knocker;  and  whilst  Meadows  went  to  open,  the  secret 
visitor  stepped  into  the  passage,  and  shut  the  books  behind 
him. 

It  was  a  room  that  looked  business.  One  side  was  almost 
papered  with  ordnance  maps  of  this  and  an  adjoining  county. 
Pigeon-holes  abounded  too,  and  there  was  a  desk  six  feet 
long,  chock-full  of  little  drawers — contents  indicated  outside 
in  letters  of  which  the  proprietor  knew  the  meaning,  not  I. 

Between  the  door  and  the  fire-place  was  a  screen,  on  which, 
in  place  of  idle  pictures,  might  be  seen  his  plans  and  calcula- 
tions as  a  land  surveyer,  especially  those  that  happened  to  be 
at  present  in  operation  or  under  consideration.  So  he  kept 
his  business  before  his  eye,  on  the  chance  of  a  good  idea 
striking  him  at  a  leisure  moment. 

"Will  Fielding's  acceptance  falls  due  to-morrow,  Crawley." 

"Yes,  sir,  what  shall  I  do?" 

"Present  it ;  he  is  not  ready  for  it,  I  know." 

"Well,  sir,  what  next?" 

98 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"Serve  him  with  a  writ." 

"He  will  be  preciously  put  about." 

"He  will.  Seem  sorry;  say  you  are  a  little  short,  but  won't 
trouble  him  for  a  month,  if  it  is  inconvenient ;  but  he  must 
make  you  safe  by  signing  a  judgment." 

"Ay!  ay!  sir.  May  I  make  bold  to  ask  what  is  the  game 
with  this  young  Fielding?" 

"You  ought  to  know  the  game — to  get  him  in  my  power." 

"And  a  very  good  game  it  is,  sir !  Nobody  plays  it  better 
than  you.  He  won't  be  the  only  one  that  is  in  your  power  in 
these  parts — he !  he !"  And  Crawley  chuckled  without  merri- 
ment. "Excuse  my  curiositv,  sir,  but  when  about  is  the  blow 
to  fall?" 

"What  is  that  to  you  ?" 

"Nothing,  sir,  only  the  sooner  the  better.  I  have  a  grudge 
against  the  family." 

"Have  you?  then  don't  act  upon  it.  I  don't  employ  you  to 
do  your  business,  but  mine." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Meadows.  You  don't  think  I'd  be  so  un- 
grateful as  to  spoil  your  admirable  plans  by  acting  upon  any 
little  feeling  of  my  own." 

"I  don't  think  you  would  be  so  silly.  For  if  you  did,  we 
should  part." 

"Don't  mention  such  an  event,  sir." 

"You  have  been  drinking,  Crawley !" 

"Not  a  drop,  sir,  this  two  days." 

"You  are  a  liar!  The  smell  of  it  comes  through  your  skin. 
I  won't  have  it.  Do  you  hear  what  I  say?  I  won't  have  it. 
No  man  that  drinks  can  do  business — especially  mine." 

"I'll  never  touch  a  drop  again.  They  called  me  into  the 
public-house — they  wouldn't  take  a  denial." 

"Hold  your  prate  and  listen  to  me.  The  next  time  you  look 
at  a  public-house,  say  to  yourself,  Peter  Crawley,  that  is  not 
a  public-house  to  you — it  is  a  hospital,  a  workhouse,  or  a 
dung-hill — for  if  you  go  in  there,  John  Meadows,  that  is  your 
friend,  will  be  your  enemy." 

"Heaven  forbid,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"Drink  this  basin-full  of  coffee." 

"Yes,  sir.    Thank  you,  sir.    It  is  very  bitter." 

"Is  your  head  clear  now?" 

99 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"As  a  bell." 

"Then  go  and  do  my  work,  and  don't  do  an  atom  more  or 
an  atom  less  than  your  task." 

"No,  sir.  Oh,  Mr,  Meadows !  it  is  a  pleasure  to  serve  you. 
You  are  as  deep  as  the  sea,  sir,  and  as  firm  as  the  rock.  You 
never  drink,  nor  anything  else,  that  I  can  find.  A  man  out  of 
a  thousand !  No  little  weakness,  like  the  rest  of  us,  sir. 
You  are  a  great  man,  sir.  You  are  a  model  of  a  man  of 
bus " 

"Good  morning,"  growled  Meadows  roughly,  and  turned 
his  back. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Peter  mellifluously.  And  open- 
ing the  back  door  about  ten  inches,  he  wriggled  out  like  a 
weasel  going  through  a  chink  in  a  wall.  , 

William  Fielding  fell  like  a  child  into  the  trap.  "Give  me 
time,  and  it  will  be  all  right,"  is  the  debtor's  delusion.  Will- 
iam thanked  Crawley  for  not  pressing  him,  and  so  compelling 
him  to  force  a  sale  of  all  his  hogs,  fat  or  lean.  Crawley  re- 
ceived his  thanks  with  a  leer,  returned  in  four  days,  got  the 
judgment  signed,  and  wriggled  away  with  it  to  Meadows' 
back  door. 

"You  take  out  an  arrest" — Meadows  gave  him  a  pocket- 
book — "put  it  in  this,  and  keep  it  ready  in  your  pocket  night 
and  day." 

"I  dare  sav  it  will  come  into  use  before  the  year  is  out, 
sir." 

"I  hope  not." 

George  Fielding  gone  to  Australia  to  make  a  thousand 
pounds  by  farming  and  cattle-feeding,  that  so  he  may  claim 
old  Merton's  promised  consent  to  marry  Susan :  Susan  ob- 
serving Mr.  Eden's  precepts  even  more  religiously  than  when 
he  was  with  her ;  active,  full  of  charitable  deeds,  often  pen- 
sive, always  anxious,  but  not  despondent  now.  thanks  to  the 
good  physician :  Meadows  falling  deeper  and  deeper  in  love, 
but  keeping  it  more  jealously  secret  than  ever;  on  his  guard 
against  Isaac,  on  his  guard  against  William,  on  his  guard 
against  John  Meadows ;  hoping  everything  from  time  and 
accidents,  from  the  distance  between  the  lovers,  from 
George's  incapacity,  of  which  he  had  a  great  opinion — "He 
will  never  make  a  thousand  pence," — but  not  trusting  to  the 

100 


1 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

things  he  hoped :  on  the  contrary,  watching  with  keen  eye, 
and  working  with  subtle  threads  to  draw  everybody  into 
his  power  who  could  assist  or  thwart  him  in  the  object  his 
deep  heart  and  iron  will  were  set  on :  William  Fielding  going 
down  the  hill  Meadows  was  mounting;  getting  the  better  of 
his  passion,  and  substituting,  by  degrees,  a  brother-in-law's 
regard. 

Flowers  and  weeds  have  one  thing  in  common — while  they 
live  they  grow.  Natural  growth  is  a  slow  process,  to  de- 
scribe it  day  by  day  a  slower.  For  the  next  four  months 
matters  glided  so  quietly  on  the  slopes  I  have  just  indicated, 
that  an  intelligent  calculation  by  the  reader  may  very  well 
take  the  place  of  a  tedious  chronicle  by  the  writer.  More- 
over, the  same  monotony  did  not  hang  over  every  part  of 
our  story.  These  very  four  months  were  eventful  enough 
to  one  of  our  characters,  and  through  him,  by  subtle  and 
positive  links,  to  every  man  and  every  woman  who  fills  any 
considerable  position  in  this  matter-of-fact  romance.  There- 
fore our  story  drags  us  from  the  meadows  round  Grassmere 
to  a  massive  castellated  building,  glaring  red  brick  with  white 
stone  corners.  These  colours  and  their  contrast  relieve  the 
stately  mass  of  some  of  that  grimness  which  characterises 
the  castles  of  antiquity ;  but  enough  remains  to  strike  some 
awe  into  the  beholder. 

Two  round  towers  flank  the  principal  entrance.  On  one 
side  of  the  right-hand  tower  is  a  small  house  constructed  in 
the  same  style  as  the  grand  pile.  The  castle  is  massive  and 
grand :  this,  its  satellite,  is  massive  and  tiny,  like  the  frog 
doing  his  little  bit  of  bull, — like  Signor  Hervio  Nano.  a 
tremendous  thick  dwarf  now  no  more.  There  is  one  dimple 
to  all  this  gloomy  grandeur :  a  rich  little  flower-garden, 
whose  frame  of  emerald  turf  goes  smiling  up  to  the  very 
ankle  of  the  frowning  fortress,  as  some  few  happy  lakes  in 
the  world  wash  the  very  foot  of  the  mountains  that  hem 
them.  From  this  green  spot  a  few  flowers  look  up  with 
bright  and  wondering  wide-opened  eyes  at  the  great  bullying 
masonry  over  their  heads;  and  to  the  spectator  of  both, 
these  sparks  of  colour  at  the  castle-foot  are  dazzling  and 
charming;  they  are  like  rubies,  sapphires,  and  pink  topaz,  in 
some  uncouth  angular  ancient  setting. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Between  the  central  towers  is  a  sharp  arch,  filled  by  a  huge 
oak  door  of  the  same  shape  and  size,  which,  for  further  se- 
curity or  ornament,  is  closely  studded  with  large  diamond- 
headed  nails.  A  man  with  keys  at  his  girdle,  like  the  ancient 
housewives,  opens  the  huge  door  to  you  with  slight  effort,  so 
well  oiled  is  it.  You  slip  under  a  porch  into  an  enclosed 
yard,  the  great  door  shuts  almost  of  itself,  and  now  it  de- 
pends upon  the  housewifely  man  whether  you  ever  see  the 
vain,  idle,  and  everyway-objectionable  world  again. 

Passing  into  the  interior  of  the  vast  buliding,  you  find 
yourself  in  an  extensive  aisle  traversed  at  right  angles  by 
another  of  similar  dimensions,  the  whole  in  form  of  a  cross. 
In  the  centre  of  each  aisle  is  an  iron  staircase,  so  narrow  that 
two  people  cannot  pass,  and  so  light  and  open  that  it  merely 
ornaments,  not  obstructs,  the  view  of  the  aisle.  These  stair- 
cases make  two  springs ;  the  first  takes  them  to  the  level  of 
two  corridors  on  the  first  floor.  Here  there  is  a  horizontal 
space  of  about  a  yard,  whence  the  continuation  staircase  rises 
to  the  second  and  highest  floor.  This  gives  three  corridors, 
all  studded  with  doors  opening  on  small  separate  apartments, 
whereof  anon. 

Nearly  all  the  inmates  of  this  grim  palace  wear  a  peculiar 
costume  and  disguise,  one  feature  of  which  is  a  cap  of  coarse 
material,  with  a  vizor  to  it,  which  conceals  the  features  all 
but  the  chin  and  the  eyes,  which  last  peep,  in  a  very  droll 
way,  through  two  holes  cut  for  that  purpose. 

They  are  distinguished  by  a  courteous  manner  to  strang- 
ers, whom  they  never  fail  to  salute  in  passing,  with  great 
apparent  cordiality ;  indeed,  we  fear  we  shall  never  meet  in 
the  busy  world  with  such  uniform  urbanity  as  in  this  and 
similar  retreats.  It  arises  from  two  causes :  one  is  that  here 
strangers  are  welcome  from  their  rarity ;  another  that  polite- 
ness is  a  part  of  the  education  of  the  place,  which,  besides 
its  other  uses,  is  an  adult  school  of  manners,  morals,  religion, 
grammar,  writing,  and  cobbling. 

With  the  exception  of  its  halls  and  corridors,  the  build- 
ing is  almost  entirely  divided  into  an  immense  number  of 
the  small  apartments  noticed  above.  These  are  homely  in- 
side, but  exquisitely  clean.  The  furniture,  moveable  and 
fixed,  none  of  which  is  superfluous,  can  be  briefly  described : 

102 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

— A  bedstead,  consisting  of  the  side  walls  of  the  apartment ; 
polished  steel  staples  are  fixed  in  these  walls,  two  on  each 
side  the  apartment  at  an  elevation  of  about  two  feet  and  a 
half.  The  occupant's  mattress  (made  of  cocoa  bark)  has  two 
stout  steel  hooks  at  each  end ;  these  are  hooked  into  the 
staples,  and  so  he  lies  across  his  abode.  A  deal  table  the 
size  of  a  pocket-handkerchief ;  also  a  deal  tripod.  A  water- 
spout so  ingeniously  contrived,  that,  turned  to  the  right,  it 
sends  a  small  stream  into  a  copper  basin,  and  to  the  left,  into 
a  bottomless  close  stool  at  some  distance.  A  small  gas- 
pipe  tipped  with  polished  brass.  In  one  angle  of  the  wall  a 
sort  of  commode  or  open  cupboard,  on  whose  shelves  a 
bright  pewter  plate,  a  knife  and  fork,  and  a  wooden  spoon: 
in  a  drawer  of  this  commode  yellow  soap  and  a  comb  and 
brush.  A  grating  down  low  for  hot  air  to  come  in,  if  it 
Hkes,  and  another  up  high  for  foul  air  to  go  out,  if  it  chooses. 
On  the  wall  a  large  placard  containing  rules  for  the  tenant's 
direction,  and  smaller  placards  containing  texts  from  Scrip- 
ture, the  propriety  of  returning  thanks  after  food,  &c. ;  a 
slate,  and  a  couple  of  leathern  knee-guards  used  in  polishing 
the  room.  And  that  is  all.  But  the  deal  furniture  is  so 
clean  you  might  eat  off  it.  The  walls  are  snow,  the  copper 
basin  and  the  brass  gas-pipe  glitter  like  red  gold  and  pale 
gold,  and  the  bed-hooks  like  silver  hot  from  the  furnace.  Al- 
together it  is  inviting  at  first  sight. 

To  one  of  these  snowy  snug  retreats  was  now  ushered  an 
acquaintance  of  ours,  Tom  Robinson.  A  brief  retrospect 
must  dispose  of  his  intermediate  history. 

When  he  left  us  he  went  to  the  county  bridewell,  where  he 
remained  until  the  assizes,  an  interval  of  about  a  month.  He 
was  tried  ;  direct  evidence  was  strong  against  him,  and  he  de- 
fended himself  with  so  much  ingenuity  and  sleight  of  intel- 
lect that  the  jury  could  not  doubt  his  sleight  of  hand  and 
morals  too.  He  was  found  guilty,  identified  as  a  notorious 
thief,  and  condemned  to  twelve  months'  imprisonment  and 
ten  years'  transportation.  He  returned  to  the  county  bride- 
well for  a  few  days,  and  then  was  shifted  to  the  castellated 
building. 

Tom  Robinson  had  not  been  in  gaol  this  four  years, 
and,   since  his  last  visit,  great  changes  had   begun   to   take 

103 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

place  in  the  internal  economy  of  these  skeleton  palaces,  and 
in  the  treatment  of  their  prisoners. 

Prisons  might  be  said  to  be  in  a  transition  state.  In  some, 
as  in  the  county  bridewell  Robinson  had  just  left,  the  old 
system  prevailed  in  full  force.  The  two  systems  vary  in 
their  aims.  Under  the  old  gaol  was  a  finishing  school  of 
felony  and  petty  larceny.  Under  the  new  it  is  intended  to  be 
a  penal  hospital  for  diseased  and  contagious  souls. 

The  treatment  of  prisoners  is  not  at  present  invariable. 
Within  certain  limits  the  law  unwisely  allows  a  discretionary 
power  to  the  magistrates  of  the  county  where  the  gaol  is ; 
and  the  gaoler,  or,  as  he  is  now  called,  the  governor,  is  their 
agent  in  these  particulars. 

Hence,  in  some  new  gaols  you  may  now  see  the  non-sepa- 
rate system;  in  others,  the  separate  system  without  silence; 
in  others,  the  separate  and  silent  system ;  in  others,  a  mix- 
ture of  these,  i.e.,  the  hardened  offenders  kept  separate,  the 
improving  ones  allowed  to  mix ;  and  these  varieties  are  at 
the  discretion  of  the  magistrates,  who  settle  within  the  legal 
limits  each  gaol's  system. 

The  magistrates,  in  this  part  of  their  business,  are  repre- 
sented by  certain  of  their  own  body,  who  are  called  "the 
visiting  justices;"  and  these  visiting  justices  can  even  order 
and  authorise  a  gaoler  to  flog  a  prisoner  for  offences  com- 
mitted in  gaol. 

Now,  a  year  or  two  before  our  tale,  one  Captain  O'Connor 
was  governor  of  this  gaol.  Captain  O'Connor  was  a  man 
of  great  public  merit.  He  had  been  one  of  the  first  dissatis- 
fied with  the  old  system,  and  had  written  very  intelligent 
books  on  crime  and  punishment,  which  are  supposed  to  have 
done  their  share  in  opening  the  nation's  eyes  to  the  necessity 
of  regenerating  its  prisons.  But  after  a  while  the  visiting 
justices  of  this  particular  county  became  dissatisfied  with 
him ;  he  did  not  go  far  enough  nor  fast  enough  with  the 
stone  he  had  helped  to  roll.  Books  and  reports  came  out 
which  convinced  the  magistrates  that  severe  punishment  of 
mind  and  body  was  the  essential  object  of  a  gaol,  and  that  it 
was  wrong  and  chimerical  to  attempt  any  cures  by  any  other 
means. 

Captain    O'Connor    had    been    very    successful    by    other 

104 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

means,  and  could  not  quite  come  to  this  opinion ;  but  he  had 
a  deputy  governor  who  did.  System,  when  it  takes  a  hold 
of  the  mind,  takes  a  strong  hold,  and  the  men  of  system 
became  very  impatient  of  opposition,  and  grateful  for  thor- 
ough acquiescence. 

Hence  it  came  to  pass  that  in  the  course  of  a  few  months 
Captain  O'Connor  found  himself  in  an  uncomfortable  posi- 
tion. His  deputy-governor,  ]Mr.  Hawes,  enjoyed  the  confi- 
dence of  the  visiting  justices ;  he  did  not.  His  suggestions 
were  negatived;  Hawes  accepted.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  he 
became  at  last  useless  as  well  as  uncomfortable,  for  these 
gentlemen  were  determined  to  carry  out  their  system,  and 
had  a  willing  agent  in  the  prison.  O'Connor  was  little  more 
than  a  drag  on  the  wheel  he  could  not  hinder  from  gliding 
down  the  hill.  At  last,  it  happened  that  he  had  overdrawn 
his  account,  without  clearly  stating  at  the  time  that  the  sum, 
which  amounted  nearly  to  one  hundred  pounds,  was  taken 
by  him  as  an  accommodation,  or  advance  of  salary.  This, 
which  though  by  no  means  unprecedented,  was  an  unbusi- 
ness-like  though  innocent  omission,  justified  censure. 

The  magistrates  went  farther  than  censure ;  they  had  long 
been  looking  for  an  excuse  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  avail 
themselves  of  the  zeal  and  energy  of  Hawes.  They  there- 
fore removed  O'Connor,  stating  publicly  as  their  reason  that 
he  was  old,  and  their  interest  put  Hawes  into  his  place.  There 
was  something  melancholy  in  such  a  close  to  O'Connor's 
public  career.  Fortune  used  him  hardly.  He  had  been  one 
of  the  first  to  improve  prisons,  yet  he  was  dismissed  on  this 
or  that  pretence,  but  really  because  he  could  not  keep  pace 
with  the  soi-disant  improvements  of  three  inexperienced  per- 
sons. Honourable  mention  of  his  name,  his  doings,  and  his 
words,  is  scattered  about  various  respectable  works  by  re- 
spectable men  on  this  subject,  yet  he  ended  in  something 
very  like  discredit. 

However,  the  public  gained  this  by  the  injustice  done  him 
— that  an  important  experiment  was  tried  under  an  active 
and  willing  agent. 

With  Governor  Hawes  the  separate  and  silent  system  flour- 
ished in  Gaol. 

The  justices  and   the  new  governor  were  of  one   mind. 

105 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

They   had   been    working   together   about   two   years    when 
Robinson  came  into  the  gaol. 

During  this  period  three  justices  had  periodically  visited 
the  gaol,  perused  the  reports,  examined,  as  in  duty  bound, 
the  surgeon,  the  officers,  and  prisoners,  and  were  proud  of 
the  system  and  its  practical  working  here. 

With  respect  to  Hawes  the  governor,  their  opinion  of  him 
was  best  shown  in  the  reports  they  had  to  make  to  the  Home 
Office  from  time  to  time.  In  these  they  invariably  spoke 
of  him  as  an  active,  zealous,  and  deserving  officer. 

Robinson  had  heard  much  of  the  changes  in  gaol  treat- 
ment, but  they  had  not  yet  come  home  to  him;  when,  there- 
fore, instead  of  being  turned  adrift  among  seventy  other  spir- 
its as  bad  as  himself,  and  greeted  with  their  boisterous  accla- 
mations, and  the  friendly  pressure  of  seven  or  eight  felonious 
hands,  he  was  ushered  into  a  cell  white  as  driven  snow,  and 
his  housewifely  duties  explained  to  him,  under  a  heavy 
penalty  if  a  speck  of  dirt  should  ever  be  discovered  on  his 
little  wall,  his  little  floor,  his  little  table,  or  if  his  cocoa-bark 
mattress  should  not  be  neatly  rolled  up  after  use,  and  the 
strap  tight,  and  the  steel  hook  polished  like  glass,  and  his 
little  brass  gas-pipe  glittering  like  gold,  &c.,  Thomas  looked 
blank  and  had  a  misgiving. 

"T  say,  gov'nor,"  said  he  to  the  under-turnkey,  "how  long 
am  I  to  be  here  before  I  go  into  the  yard  ?" 

"Talking  not  allowed  out  of  hours,"  was  the  only  reply. 

Robinson  whistled.  The  turnkey,  whose  name  was  Evans, 
looked  at  him  with  a  doubtful  air,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Shall 
I  let  that  pass  unpunished  or  not?"  However,  he  went  out 
without  any  further  observation,  leaving  the  door  open ;  but 
the  next  moment  he  returned  and  put  his  head  in :  "Prisoners 
shut  their  own  doors,"  said  he. 

"Well,"  drawled  Robinson,  looking  coolly  and  insolently 
into  the  man's  face,  "I  don't  see  what  I  shall  gain  by  that." 
And  Mr.  Robinson  seated  himself,  and  turning  his  back  a 
little  rudely,  immersed  himself  ostentatiously  in  his  own 
thoughts. 

"You  will  gain  as  you  won't  be  put  in  the  black  hole  for 
refractory  conduct.  No.  19,"  replied  Evans,  quietly  and 
sternly, 

106 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Robinson  made  a  wry  face,  and  pushed  the  door  peevishly : 
it  shut  with  a  spring,  and  no  mortal  power  or  ingenuity  could 
now  open  it  from  the  inside. 

"Well,  I'm  blest,"  said  the  self-immured,  "every  man  his 
own  turnkey  now ;  save  the  Queen's  pocket,  whatever  you 
do.  Times  are  so  hard.  Box  at  the  opera  costs  no  end. 
What  have  we  got  here  ?  A  Bible !  my  eye !  invisible  print ! 
Oh,  I  see;  'tisn't  for  us  to  read;  'tis  for  the  visitors  to  ad- 
mire— like  the  new  sheet  over  the  dirty  blankets !  What's 
this  hung  up? 

'Grace  after  Meat/ 

"Oh,  with  all  my  heart,  your  reverence!  Here,  turnkey, 
fetch  up  the  venison  and  the  sweet  sauce — you  may  leave  the 
water-gruel  till  I  ring  for  it.  If  I  am  to  say  grace,  let  me 
feel  it  first ;  dart  your  eyes  all  round,  governor,  turnkeys, 
chaplain,  and  all  the  hypocritical  crew !" 

The  next  morning,  at  half-past  five,  the  prison  bell  rang 
for  the  officers  to  rise,  and  at  six  a  turnkey  unlocked  Robin- 
son's door,  and  delivered  the  following  in  an  imperious  key 
all  in  one  note  and  without  any  rests : — "Prisoner  to  open 
and  shake  bedding  wash  face  hands  and  neck  on  pain  of 
punishment  and  roll  up  hammocks  and  clean  cells  and  be 
ready  to  clean  corridors  if  required."  So  chanting — slammed 
door — vanished. 

Robinson  set  to  work  with  alacrity  upon  the  little  arrange- 
ments ;  he  soon  finished  them,  and  then  he  would  not  have 
been  sorry  to  turn  out  and  clean  the  corridor  for  a  change, 
but  it  was  not  his  turn.  He  sat,  dull  and  lonely,  till  eight 
o'clock,  when  suddenly  a  key  was  inserted  into  a  small  lock 
in  the  centre  of  his  door,  but  outside ;  the  efifect  of  this  was 
to  open  a  small  trap  in  the  door,  through  this  aperture  a 
turnkey  shoved  in  the  man's  breakfast,  without  a  word,  "like 
one  flinging  guts  to  a  bear"  (Scott)  ;  and  on  the  sociable 
Tom  attempting  to  say  a  civil  word  to  him,  drew  the  trap 
sharply  back,  and  hermetically  sealed  the  aperture  with  a 
snap.  The  breakfast  was  in  a  rovmd  tin,  with  two  compart- 
ments ;  one  pint  of  gruel  and  six  ounces  of  bread.  These  two 
phases  of  farina  were  familiar  to  l\Ir.  Robinson.  He  ate  the 
bread  and  drank  the  gruel,  adding  a  good  deal  of  salt. 

107 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

At  nine  the  chapel  bell  rang.  Robinson  was  glad ;  not 
that  he  admired  the  Liturgy,  but  he  said  to  himself,  "Now 
I  shall  see  a  face  or  two,  perhaps  some  old  pals." 

To  his  dismay,  the  warden  who  opened  his  cell  bade  him 
at  the  same  time  put  on  the  prison  cap,  with  the  peak  down ; 
and  when  he  and  the  other  male  prisoners  were  mustered  in 
the  corridor,  he  found  them  all  like  himself,  vizor  down,  eyes 
glittering  like  basilisks'  or  cats'  through  two  holes,  features 
undistinguishable.  The  word  was  given  to  march  in  per- 
fect silence,  five  paces  apart,  to  the  chapel. 

The  sullen  pageant  started. 

"I've  heard  of  this,  but  who'd  have  thought  they  carried 
the  game  so  far?  Well,  I  must  wait  till  we  are  in  chapel, 
and  pick  up  a  pal  by  the  voice,  whilst  the  parson  is  doing 
his  patter." 

On  reaching  the  chapel,  he  found  to  his  dismay  that  the 
chapel  was  as  cellular  as  any  other  part  of  the  prison ;  it  was 
an  agglomeration  of  one  hundred  sentry-boxes,  open  only 
on  the  side  facing  the  clergyman,  and  even  there  only  from 
the  prisoner's  third  button  upwards.  Warders  stood  on 
raised  platforms,  and  pointed  out  his  sentry-box  to  each 
prisoner  with  very  long  slender  wands ;  the  prisoner  went 
into  it  and  pulled  the  door  (it  shut  with  a  spring),  and  next 
took  his  badge  or  number  from  his  neck  and  hung  it  up  on 
a  nail  above  his  head  in  the  sentry-box.  Between  the  read- 
ing-desk and  the  male  prisoners  was  a  small  area  where  the 
debtors  sat  together. 

The  female  prisoners  were  behind  a  thick  veil  of  close 
lattice-work. 

Service  concluded,  the  governor  began  to  turn  a  wheel  in 
his  pew :  this  wheel  exhibited  to  the  congregation  a  number, 
the  convict  whose  number  corresponded  instantly  took  down 
his  badge  (the  sight  and  position  of  which  had  determined 
the  governor  in  working  his  wheel)  drew  the  peak  of  his  cap 
over  his  face,  and  went  out  and  waited  in  the  lobby.  When 
all  the  sentry-boxes  were  thus  emptied,  dead  march  of  the 
whole  party  back  to  the  main  building;  here  the  warders 
separated  them,  and  sent  them  dead  silent,  vizors  down,  some 
to  clean  the  prison,  some  to  their  cells,  some  to  hard  labour, 
and  some  to  an  airing  in  the  yard. 

1 08 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Robinson  was  to  be  aired.  "Hurrah !"  thought  sociable 
Tom.  Alas !  he  found  the  system  in  the  yard  as  well  as  in 
the  chapel.  The  promenade  was  a  number  of  passages  radi- 
ating from  a  common  centre ;  the  sides  of  the  passage  were 
thick  walls ;  entrance  to  passage  an  iron  gate  locked  behind 
the  promenader.  An  officer  remained  on  the  watch  the  whole 
time  to  see  that  a  word  did  not  creep  out  or  in  through  one 
of  the  gates. 

"And  this  they  call  out  of  doors,"  grunted  Robinson. 

After  an  hour's  promenade  he  was  taken  into  his  cell, 
where,  at  twelve,  the  trap  in  his  door  was  opened  and  his 
dinner  shoved  in,  and  the  trap  snapped-to  again  all  in  three 
seconds.  A  very  good  dinner,  better  than  paupers  always 
get — three  ounces  of  meat — no  bone,  eight  ounces  of  potatoes, 
and  eight  ounces  of  bread.  After  dinner,  three  weary  hours 
without  an  incident.  At  about  three  o'clock  one  of  the  ward- 
ers opened  his  cell  door,  and  put  his  head  in  and  swiftly 
withdrew  it.  Three  more  monotonous  hours,  and  then  sup- 
per— one  pint  of  gruel,  and  eight  ounces  of  bread.  He  ate 
it  as  slowly  as  he  could,  to  eke  out  a  few  minutes  in  the  heavy 
day.  Quarter  before  eight  a  bell  to  go  to  bed.  At  eight 
the  warders  came  round,  and  saw  that  all  the  prisoners  were 
all  in  bed.  The  next  day  the  same  thing,  and  the  next  ditto, 
with  this  exception,  that  one  of  the  warders  came  into  his 
cell  and  minutely  examined  it  in  dead  silence.  The  fourth 
day  the  chaplain  visited  him,  asked  him  a  few  questions,  re- 
peated a  few  sentences  on  the  moral  responsibility  of  every 
human  being,  and  set  him  some  texts  of  Scripture  to  learn  by 
heart.  This  visit,  though  merely  one  of  routine,  broke  the 
thief's  dead  silence  and  solitude,  and  he  would  have  been 
thankful  to  have  a  visit  every  day  from  the  chaplain,  whose 
manner  was  formal,  but  not  surly  and  forbidding  like  the 
turnkeys  or  warders. 

Next  day  the  governor  of  the  gaol  came  suddenly  into 
the  cell,  and  put  to  Robinson  several  questions,  which  he 
answered  with  great  affability ;  then,  turning  on  his  heel,  said 
brusquely,  "Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me?" 

"Yes,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"Out  with  it  then,  my  man,"  said  the  governor  impa- 
tiently. 

109 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Sir,  I  was  condemned  to  hard  labour;  now  I  wanted  to 
ask  you  when  my  hard  labour  is  to  begin,  because  I  have  not 
been  put  upon  anything  yet." 

"We  are  kinder  to  you  than  the  judges,  then,  it  seems." 

"Yes,  sir ;  but  I  am  not  naturally  lazy,  and " 

"A  little  hard  work  would  amuse  you  just  now?" 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  think  it  would ;  I  am  very  much  depressed 
in  spirits." 

"You  will  be  worse  before  you  are  better." 

"Heaven  forbid !  I  think  if  you  don't  give  me  something  to 
do  I  shall  go  out  of  my  mind  soon,  sir." 

"That  is  what  they  all  say.  You  will  be  put  on  hard  la- 
bour, I  promise  you,  but  not  when  it  suits  you.  We'll  choose 
the  time."  And  the  governor  went  out  with  a  knowing  smile 
upon  his  face. 

The  thief  sat  himself  down  disconsolately,  and  the  heavy 
hours,  like  leaden  waves,  seemed  to  rise  and  rise,  and  roll 
over  his  head  and  suffocate  him,  and  weigh  him  down,  down, 
down  to  bottomless  despair. 

At  length,  about  the  tenth  day,  this  human  being's  desire 
to  change  a  friendly  word  with  some  other  human  creature 
became  so  strong,  that  in  the  chapel,  during  service,  he 
scratched  the  door  of  his  sentry  box,  and  whispered,  "Mate, 
whisper  me  a  word,  for  pity's  sake."  He  received  no  an- 
swer; but  even  to  have  spoken  himself  relieved  his  swelling 
soul  for  a  minute  or  two.  Half  an  hour  later  four  turnkeys 
came  into  his  cell,  and  took  him  downstairs,  and  confined 
him  in  a  pitch-dark  dungeon. 

The  prisoner  whose  attention  he  had  tried  to  attract  in 
chapel  had  told  to  curry  favor,  and  was  reported  favourably 
for  the  same. 

The  darkness  in  which  Robinson  now  lay  was  not  like  the 
darkness  of  our  bedrooms  at  night,  in  which  the  outHnes  of 
objects  are  more  or  less  visible ;  it  was  the  frightful  darkness 
that  chilled  and  crushed  the  Egyptians,  soul  and  body — it 
was  a  darkness  that  might  be  felt. 

This  terrible  and  unnatural  privation  of  all  light  is  very 
trying  to  all  God's  creatures,  to  none  more  so  than  to  man, 
and  amongst  men  it  is  most  dangerous  and  distressing  to 
those  who  have  imagination  and  excitability.     Now  Robin- 

lio 


'IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

son  was  a  man  of  this  class,  a  man  of  rare  capacity,  full  of 
talent  and  the  courage  and  energy  that  vent  themselves  in 
action,  but  not  rich  in  the  tough  fortitude  which  does  little, 
feels  little,  and  bears  much. 

When  they  took  him  out  of  the  black-hole,  after  six  hours' 
confinement,  he  was  observed  to  be  white  as  a  sheet,  and  to 
tremble  violently  all  over,  and  in  this  state,  at  the  word  of 
command,  he  crept  back  all  the  way  to  his  cell,  his  hand  to 
his  eyes,  that  were  dazzled  by  what  seemed  to  him  bright 
daylight,  his  body  shaking,  while  every  now  and  then  a  loud 
convulsive  sob  burst  from  his  bosom. 

The  governor  happened  to  be  on  the  corridor,  looking 
down  over  the  rails,  as  Robinson  passed  him.  He  said  to  him. 
with  a  victorious  sneer,  'You  won't  be  refractory  in  chapel 
again  in  a  hurry." 

"No,"  said  the  thief,  in  a  low  gentle  voice,  despairingly. 

The  day  after  Robinson  was  put  in  the  black-hole  the  sur- 
geon came  his  rounds  :  he  found  him  in  a  corner  of  his  cell 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 

The  man  took  no  notice  of  his  entrance.  The  surgeon 
Avent  up  to  him,  and  shook  him  rather  roughly.  Robinson 
raised  his  heavy  eyes,  and  looked  stupidly  at  him. 

The  surgeon  laid  hold  of  him,  and  placing  a  thumb  on  each 
side  of  his  eye,  inspected  that  organ  fully.  He  then  felt  his 
pulse;  this  done,  he  went  out  with  the  warder.  JMaking  his 
report  to  the  governor,  he  came  in  turn  to  Robinson. 

"No.  19  is  sinking." 

"Oh,  is  he?  Fry,"  (turning  to  a  warder),  "what  has  19's 
treatment  been?" 

"Been  in  his  cell,  sir,  without  labour  since  he  came.  Black- 
hole  yesterday,  for  communicating  in  chapel." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?" 

"Doctor  says  he  is  sinking." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  his  sinking?" 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  the  surgeon,  with  a  sort  of  dry  defer- 
ence, "he  is  dying — that  is  what  I  mean." 

"Oh,  he  is  dying,  is  he?  d — n  him,  we'll  stop  that!  here, 
Fry,  take  No.  19  out  into  the  garden,  and  set  him  to  work, 
and  put  him  on  the  corridors  to-morrow." 

"Is  he  to  be  let  talk  to  us,  sir?" 

Ill 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"Humph !  yes !" 

Robinson  was  taken  out  into  the  garden ;  it  was  a  small 
piece  of  ground  that  had  once  been  a  yard;  it  was  enclosed 
within  walls  of  great  height,  and  to  us  would  have  seemed 
a  cheerless  place  for  horticulture,  but  to  Robinson  it  ap- 
peared the  garden  of  Eden :  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
pleasure,  but  the  next  moment  his  countenance  fell. 

"They  won't  let  me  stay  here !" 

Fry  took  him  into  the  centre  of  the  garden,  and  put  a 
spade  into  his  hand.  "Now  you  dig  this  piece,"  said  he,  in 
his  dry,  unfriendly  tone,  "and  if  you  have  time  cut  the  edges 
of  the  grass  path  square."  The  words  were  scarcely  out  of 
his  mouth,  before  Robinson  drove  the  spade  into  the  soil  with 
all  the  energy  of  one  of  God's  creatures  escaping  from  sys- 
tem back  to  nature. 

Fry  left  him  in  the  garden  after  making  him  pull  down 
his  vizor,  for  there  was  one  more  prisoner  working  at  some 
distance. 

Robinson  set  to  with  energy,  and  dug  for  the  bare  life. 
It  was  a  sort  of  work  he  knew  very  little  about,  and  a  gar- 
dener would  have  been  disgusted  at  his  ridges,  but  he  threw 
his  whole  soul  into  it,  and  very  soon  had  nearly  completed 
his  task.  Having  been  confined  so  long  without  exercise, 
his  breath  was  short,  and  he  perspired  profusely;  but  he  did 
not  care  for  that.  "Oh,  how  sweet  this  is  after  being  buried 
alive,"  cried  he,  and  in  went  the  spade  again.  Presently  he 
was  seized  with  a  strange  desire  to  try  the  other  part  of  his 
task,  the  more  so  as  it  required  more  skill  and  presented  a 
difficulty  to  overcome.  A  part  of  the  path  had  been  shaved, 
and  the  knippers  lay  where  they  had  been  last  used.  Robin- 
son inspected  the  recent  work  with  an  intelligent  eye,  and 
soon  discovered  traces  of  a  white  line  on  one  side  of  the 
path,  that  served  as  a  guide  to  the  knippers.  "Oh,  I  must 
draw  a  straight  line,"  said  Robinson,  out  loud,  indulging 
himself  with  the  sound  of  a  human  voice :  "but  how  ?  can  you 
tell  me  that?"  he  inquired  of  a  gooseberry  bush  that  grew 
near.  The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth,  before 
peering  about  in  every  direction,  he  discovered  an  iron  spike 
with  some  cord  wrapped  around  it,  and,  not  far  off,  a  piece 
of  chalk.     He  pounced  on  them,  and  fastening  the  spike  at 

112 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

the  edge  of  the  path,  attempted  to  draw  a  Hne  with  the  chalk, 
using  the  string  as  a  ruler.  Not  succeeding,  he  reflected  a 
little,  and  the  result  was  that  he  chalked  several  feet  of  the 
line  all  round  until  it  was  all  white ;  then  with  the  help  of  a 
stake,  which  he  took  for  his  other  terminus,  he  got  the 
chalked  string  into  a  straight  line  just  above  the  edge  of  the 
grass ;  next  pressing  it  tightly  down  with  his  foot,  he  effected 
a  white  line  on  the  grass ;  he  now  removed  the  string,  took 
the  knippers,  and  following  his  white  line  trimmed  the  path 
secundum  arfem.  "There,"  said  Robinson  to  the  gooseberry- 
bush,  but  not  very  loud  for  fear  of  being  heard  and  punished, 
"I  wonder  whether  that  is  how  the  gardeners  do  it?  I  think 
it  must  be."  He  viewed  his  work  with  satisfaction,  then 
went  back  to  his  digging,  and  as  he  put  the  finishing 
stroke.  Fry  came  to  bring  him  back  to  his  cell ;  it  was  bed- 
time. 

"I  never  worked  in  a  garden  before,"  began  Robinson,  "so 
it  is  not  so  well  done  as  it  might  be,  but  if  I  was  to  come 
every  day  for  a  week  I  think  I  could  master  it.  I  did  not 
know  there  was  a  garden  in  this  prison.  If  ever  I  build  a 
prison,  there  shall  be  a  garden  in  it  as  big  as  Belgrave 
Square." 

"You  are  precious  fond  of  the  sound  of  your  own  voice, 
No.  19,"  said  Fry  drily. 

"We  are  not  forbidden  to  speak  to  the  warders,  are  we?" 

"Not  at  proper  times." 

He  threw  open  cell-door  19,  and  Robinson  entered. 

Before  he  could  close  the  door  Robinson  said  "Good  night 
and  thank  you." 

"G'night,"  snarled  Fry  sullenly,  as  one  shamed  against  his 
will  into  a  civility. 

Robinson  lay  awake  half  the  night,  and  awoke  the  next 
morning  rather  feverish  and  stifif,  but  not  the  leaden  thing 
he  was  the  day  before. 

A  feather  turns  a  balance  scale.  This  man's  life  and  rea- 
son had  been  engaged  in  a  drawn  battle  with  the  three  mortal 
enemies — solitude,  silence,  and  privation  of  all  employment. 
That  little  bit  of  labour  and  wholesome  thought,  whose  pal- 
try and  childish  details  I  half  blush  to  have  given  you,  were 
yet  due  to  my  story,  for  they  took  a  man  out  of  himself, 

«  113 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

checked  the  self-devouring  process,  and  helped  elastic  nature 
to  recover  herself  this  bout. 

The  next  day  Robinson  was  employed  washing  the  prison. 
The  next  he  got  two  hours  in  the  garden  again,  and  the  next 
the  trades-master  was  sent  into  his  cell  to'  teach  him  how  to 
make  scrubbing-brushes.  The  man  sat  down  and  was  com- 
mencing a  discourse  when  Robinson  interrupted  him 
politely. 

"Sir,  let  me  see  you  work,  and  watch  me  try  to  do  the 
same,  and  correct  me." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  trades-master. 

He  remained  about  half-an-hour  with  his  pupil,  and  when 
he  went  out  he  said  to  one  of  the  turnkeys,  "There  is  a  chap 
in  there  that  can  pick  up  a  handicraft  as  a  pigeon  picks  up 
peas." 

The  next  day  the  surgeon  happened  to  look  in.  He  found 
Robinson  as  busy  as  a  bee  making  brushes,  pulled  his  eye 
open  again,  felt  his  pulse,  and  wrote  something  down  in  his 
memorandum-book.  He  left  directions  with  the  turnkey  that 
No.  19  should  be  kept  employed,  with  the  governor's  per- 
mission. 

Robinson's  hands  were  now  full ;  he  made  brushes,  and 
every  day  put  some  of  them  to  the  test  upon  the  floor  and 
walls  of  the  building. 

It  happened  one  day  as  he  was  doing  housemaid  in  corri- 
dor B,  that  he  suddenly  heard  unwonted  sounds  issue  from  a 
part  of  the  premises  into  which  he  had  not  yet  been  intro- 
duced, the  yard  devoted  to  hard  labour.  First  he  heard  a 
single  voice  shouting;  that  did  not  last  long;  then  a  dead 
silence ;  then  several  voices,  among  which  his  quick  ear  recog- 
nised Fry's  and  the  governor's.  He  could  see  nothing;  the 
sounds  came  from  one  of  the  hard-labour  cells.  Robinson 
was  surprised  and  puzzled ;  what  were  these  sounds  that 
broke  the  silence  of  the  living  tomb  ?  An  instinct  told  him  it 
was  no  use  asking  a  turnkey,  so  he  devoured  his  curiosity 
and  surprise  as  best  he  might. 

The  very  next  day  about  the  same  hour,  both  were  again 
excited  by  voices  from  the  same  quarter  equally  unintelligible. 
He  heard  a  great  noise  of  water  slashed  in  bucketsful  against 
a  wall,   and   this  was   followed  by  a   sort  of  gurgling  that 

114 


I 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

seemed  to  him  to  come  from,  a  human  tliroat ;  this  latter, 
however,  was  almost  drowned  in  an  exulting  chuckle  of  sev- 
eral persons,  amongst  whom  he  caught  the  tones  of  a  turnkey 
called  Hodges,  and  of  the  governor  himself.  Robinson  puz- 
zled and  puzzled  himself,  but  could  not  understand  these 
curious  sounds,  and  he  could  see  nothing  except  a  quantity 
of  water  running  out  of  one  of  the  labour  cells,  and  coursing 
along  till  it  escaped  by  one  of  the  two  gutters  that  drained 
the  yard.  Often  and  often  Robinson  meditated  on  this,  and 
exerted  all  his  ingenuity  to  conceive  what  it  meant.  His 
previous  gaol  experience  afforded  him  no  clue,  and  he  was 
one  of  those  who  hate  to  be  in  the  dark  about  anything, 
this  new  riddle  tortured  him. 

However,  the  prison  was  generally  so  dead  dumb  and 
gloomy,  that  upon  two  such  cheerful  events  as  water  splash- 
ing and  creatures  laughing,  he  could  not  help  crowing  a  little 
out  of  sympathy  without  knowing  why. 

The  next  day,  as  Robinson  was  working  in  the  corridor,  the 
governor  came  in  with  a  gentleman  whom  he  treated  with 
unusual  and  marked  respect.  This  gentleman  was  the  chair- 
man of  the  quarter  sessions,  and  one  of  those  magistrates  who 
had  favoured  the  adoption  of  the  present  system. 

Mr.  Williams  inspected  the  prison ;  was  justly  pleased  with 
its  exquisite  cleanliness ;  he  questioned  the  governor  as  to 
the  health  of  the  prisoners,  and  received  for  answer  that  most 
of  them  were  well,  but  that  there  were  some  exceptions :  this 
appeared  to  satisfy  him.  He  went  into  the  labour-yard, 
looked  at  the  cranks,  examined  the  numbers  printed  on  each 
in  order  to  learn  their  respective  weights,  and  see  that  the 
prisoners  were  not  overburdened. 

\\'ent  with  the  governor  into  three  or  four  cells,  and  asked 
the  prisoners  if  they  had  any  complaint  to  make. 

The  unanimous  answer  was  "No !" 

He  then  complimented  the  governor,  and  drove  home  to 
his  own  house,  Ashton  Park. 

There,  after  dinner,  he  said  to  a  brother  magistrate,  "I 
inspected  the  gaol  to-day — was  all  over  it." 

The  next  morning  Fry  the  morose  came  into  Robinson's 
cell  with  a  more  cheerful  countenance  than  usual.  Robinson 
noticed  it. 

115 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


1 


"You  are  put  on  the  crank,"  said  Fry. 

"Oh,  am  I?" 

"Of  course  you  are.  Your  sentence  was  hard  labour, 
wasn't  it  ?  I  don't  know  why  you  weren't  sent  on  a  fortnight 
ago." 

Fry  then  took  him  out  into  the  labour-yard,  which  he 
found  perforated  with  cells  about  half  the  size  of  his  hermit- 
age in  the  corridor.  In  each  of  these  little  quiet  grottoes 
lurked  a  monster  called  a  crank.  A  crank  is  a  machine  of 
this  sort — there  springs  out  of  a  vertical  post  an  iron  handle, 
which  the  workmen,  taking  it  by  both  hands,  work  round 
and  round  as  in  some  country  places  you  may  have  seen  the 
villagers  draw  a  bucket  up  from  a  well.  The  iron  handle 
goes  at  the  shoulder  into  a  small  iron  box  at  the  top  of  the 
post,  and  inside  that  box  the  resistance  to  the  turner  is  regu- 
lated by  the  manufacturer,  who  states  the  value  of  the  re- 
sistance outside  in  cast-iron  letters.     Thus — 

5lb.  crank. 

7lb.  crank.   lo,   12,  &c.,  &c. 

"Eighteen  hundred  revolutions  per  hour,"  said  Mr.  Fry  in 
his  voice  of  routine,  "and  you  are  to  work  two  hours  be- 
fore dinner."  So  saying  he  left  him,  and  Robinson,  with  the 
fear  of  punishment  before  him,  lost  not  a  moment  in  getting 
to  work.  He  found  the  crank  go  easy  enough  at  first,  but 
the  longer  he  was  at  it  the  stiffer  it  seemed  to  turn.  And 
after  about  four  hundred  turns  he  was  fain  to  breathe  and 
rest  himself.  He  took  three  minutes  rest,  then  at  it  again. 
All  this  time  there  was  no  taskmaster,  as  in  Egypt,  nor 
whipper-up  of  declining  sable  energy,  as  in  Old  Kentucky. 
So  that  if  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  have  a  reader  aged  ten, 
he  is  wondering  why  the  fool  did  not  confine  his  exertions  to 
saying  he  had  made  the  turns.  My  dear,  it  would  not  do. 
Though  no  mortal  oversaw  the  thief  at  his  task,  the  eye  of 
science  was  in  that  cell  and  watched  every  stroke,  and  her 
inexorable  finger  marked  it  down.  In  plain  English,  on 
the  face  of  the  machine  was  a  thing  like  a  chronometer  with 
numbers  set  all  round,  and  a  hand  which,  somehow  or  other, 
always  pointed  to  the  exact  number  of  turns  the  thief  had 
made.  The  crank  was  an  autometer  or  self-measurer,  and  in 
that  respect  your  superior  and  mine,  my  little  drake. 

116 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

This  was  Robinson's  first  acquaintance  with  the  crank. 
The  tread- wheel  had  been  the  mode  in  his  time ;  so  by  the 
time  he  had  made  three  thousand  turns  he  was  rather  ex- 
hausted. He  leaned  upon  the  iron  handle,  and  sadly  re- 
gretted his  garden  and  his  brushes ;  but  fear  and  dire  neces- 
sity were  upon  him ;  he  set  to  his  task  and  to  work  again.  'T 
won't  look  at  the  meter  again,  for  it  always  tells  me  less  than 
I  expect.  I'll  just  plough  on  till  that  beggar  comes.  I  know 
he  will  come  to  the  minute." 

Sadly  and  doggedly  he  turned  the  iron  handle,  and  turned 
and  turned  again ;  and  then  he  panted  and  rested  a  minute, 
and  then  doggedly  to  his  idle  toil  again.  He  was  now  so  fa- 
tigued that  his  head  seemed  to  have  come  loose,  he  could  not 
hold  it  up,  and  it  went  round  and  round  and  round  with  the 
crank-handle.  Hence  it  was  that  Mr.  Fry  stood  at  the  mouth 
of  the  den  without  the  other  seeing  him.  "Halt,"  said  Fry, 
Robinson  looked  up,  and  there  was  the  turnkey  inspecting 
him  with  a  discontented  air.  "I'm  done,"  thought  Robinson, 
"here  he  is  as  black  as  thunder — the  number  not  right,  no 
doubt." 

"What  are  ye  at?"  growled  Fry.  "You  are  forty  over," 
and  the  said  Fry  looked  not  only  ill-used,  but  a  little  un- 
happy. Robinson's  good  behaviour  had  disappointed  the 
poor  soul. 

This  Fry  was  a  grim  oddity ;  he  experienced  a  feeble  com- 
placency when  things  went  wrong — but  never  else. 

The  thief  exulted,  and  was  taken  back  to  his  cell.  Din- 
ner came  almost  immediately ;  four  ounces  of  meat  instead 
of  three,  two  ounces  less  bread,  but  a  large  access  of  potatoes, 
which  more  than  balanced  the  account. 

The  next  day  Robinson  was  put  on  the  crank  again,  but 
not  till  the  afternoon.  He  had  finished  about  half  his  task 
when  he  heard  at  some  little  distance  from  him  a  faint  moan- 
ing. His  first  impulse  was  to  run  out  of  his  cell  and  see  what 
was  the  matter,  but  Hodges  and  Fry  were  both  in  the  yard, 
and  he  knew  that  they  would  report  him  for  punishment 
upon  the  least  breach  of  discipline.  So  he  turned  and  turned 
the  crank,  with  these  moans  ringing  in  his  ears  and  perplex- 
ing his  soul. 

Finding  that  they  did  not  cease,  he  peeped  cautiously  into 

117 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

the  yard,  and  there  he  saw  the  governor  himself  as  well  as 
Hodges  and  Fry ;  all  three  were  standing  close  to  the  place 
whence  these  groans  issued,  and  with  an  air  of  complete  un- 
concern. 

But  presently  the  groans  ceased,  and  then  mysteriously 
enough  the  little  group  of  disciplinarians  threw  off  their 
apathy.  Hodges  and  Fry  went  hastily  to  the  pump  with 
buckets,  which  they  filled,  and  then  came  back  to  the  gover- 
nor ;  the  next  minute  Robinson  heard  water  dash  repeated- 
ly against  the  walls  of  the  cell,  and  then  the  governor  laughed, 
and  Hodges  laughed,  and  even  the  gloomy  Fry  vented  a 
brief  grim  chuckle. 

And  now  Robinson  quivered  with  curiosity  as  he  turned 
his  crank,  but  there  was  no  means  of  gratifying  it.  It  so 
happened,  however,  that  some  ten  minutes  later  the  gover- 
nor sent  Hodges  and  Fry  to  another  part  of  the  prison,  and 
they  had  not  been  gone  long  before  a  message  came  to  him- 
self, on  which  he  went  hastily  out,  and  the  yard  was  left 
empty.  Robinson's  curiosity  had  reached  such  a  pitch,  that 
notwithstanding  the  risk  he  ran,  for  he  knew  the  governor 
would  send  back  to  the  yard  the  very  first  disengaged  offi- 
cer he  met,  he  could  not  stay  quiet.  As  the  governor  closed 
the  gate  he  ran  with  all  speed  to  the  cell,  he  darted  in,  and 
then  the  thief  saw  what  made  the  three  honest  men  laugh  so. 
He  saw  it,  and  started  back  with  a  cry  of  dismay,  for  the 
sight  chilled  the  felon  to  the  bone. 

A  lad  about  fifteen  years  of  age  was  pinned  against  the 
wall  in  agony  by  a  leathern  belt  passed  round  his  shoulders 
and  drawn  violently  round  two  staples  in  the  wall.  Has  arms 
were  jammed  against  his  sides  by  a  straight  waistcoat  fast- 
ened with  straps  behind,  and  those  straps  drawn  with  the 
utmost  severity.  Rut  this  was  not  all.  A  high  leathern  collar. 
a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick,  squeezed  his  throat  in  its  iron 
grasp.  His  hair  and  his  clothes  were  drenched  with  water 
which  had  been  thrown  in  bucketsful  over  him,  and  now 
dripped  from  him  on  the  floor.  His  face  was  white,  his  lips 
livid,  his  eyes  were  nearly  glazed,  and  his  teeth  chattered 
with  cold  and  pain. 

A  more  unprincipled  man  than  Robinson  did  not  exist ;  but 
burglary  and  larceny  do  not  extinguish  humanity  in  a  think- 

ii8 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ing  rascal,  as  resigning  the  soul  to  system  can  extinguish  it 
in  a  dull  dog, 

"Oh,  what  is  this  ?''  cried  Robinson,  "what  are  the  villains 
doing  to  you  ?" 

He  received  no  answer;  but  the  boy's  eyes  opened  wide, 
and  he  turned  those  glazing  eyes,  the  only  part  of  his  body 
he  could  turn,  toward  the  speaker.  Robinson  ran  up  to  him, 
and  began  to  try  and  loosen  him. 

At  this  the  boy  cried  out,  almost  screaming  with  terror, 
"Let  me  alone!  let  me  alone!  They'll  give  it  me  worse  if 
you  do,  and  they'll  serve  you  out  too  I" 

"But  you  will  die,  boy.    Look  at  his  poor  lips !" 

"No,  no,  no!  I  shan't  die!  No  such  luck!"  cried  the  boy, 
impatiently  and  wildly.  "Thank  you  for  speaking  kind  to 
me.  Who  are  you  ?  tell  me  quick  and  go.  I  am  Josephs,  No. 
15,  Corridor  A." 

"I  am  Robinson,  No.  19,  Corridor  B." 

"Good-bye,  Robinson ;  I  shan't  forget  you.  Hark,  the 
door !    Go  !  go !  go !  go !  go !" 

Robinson  was  already  gone.  He  had  fled  at  the  first  click 
of  a  key  in  the  outward  door,  and  darted  into  his  cell  at 
the  moment  Fry  got  into  the  yard.  An  instinct  of  suspicion 
led  this  man  straight  to  Robinson's  hermitage.  He  found 
him  hard  at  work.  Fry  scrutinised  his  countenance,  but 
Robinson  was  too  good  an  actor  to  betray  himself ;  only  when 
Fry  passed  on  he  drew  a  long  breath.  What  he  had  seen 
surprised  as  well  as  alarmed  him,  for  he  had  always  been  told 
the  new  system  discouraged  personal  violence  of  all  sorts  ;  and 
in  all  his  experience  of  the  old  gaols  he  had  never  seen  a 
prisoner  abused  so  savagely  as  the  young  martyr  in  the  ad- 
joining cell.  His  own  work  done,  he  left  for  his  own  dormi- 
tory. He  was  uneasy,  and  his  heart  was  heavy  for  poor 
Josephs,  but  he  dared  not  even  cast  a  look  towards  his  place 
of  torture,  for  the  other  executioners  had  returned,  and  Fry 
followed  grim  at  his  heels  like  a  mastiff  dogging  a  stranger 
out  of  the  premises. 

That  evening  Robinson  spent  in  gloomy  reflections  and 
forebodings.  "I  wish  I  was  in  the  hulks,  or  anywhere  out 
of  this  place,"  said  he.  As  for  Josephs,  the  governor,  after 
inspecting  his  torture  for  a  few  minutes,  left  the  yard  again 

119 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

with  the  subordinates,  and  Josephs  was  left  alone  with  his 
great  torture  for  two  hours  more;  then  Hodges  came  in.  and 
began  to  loose  him,  swearing  at  him  all  the  time  for  a  little 
rebellious  monkey  that  gave  more  trouble  than  enough.  The 
rebellious  monkey  made  no  answer,  but  crawled  slowly  away 
to  his  dungeon,  shivering  in  his  drenched  clothes,  stiff  and 
sore,  his  bones  full  of  pain,  his  heart  full  of  despondency. 

Robinson  had  now  eight  thousand  turns  of  the  crank  per 
day,  and  very  hard  work  he  found  it ;  but  he  preferred  it 
to  being  buried  alive  all  day  in  his  cell ;  and  warned  by 
Josephs'  fate,  he  went  at  the  crank  with  all  his  soul,  and 
never  gave  them  an  excuse  for  calling  him  "refractory."  It 
happened,  however,  one  day  just  after  breakfast,  that  he  was 
taken  with  a  headache  and  shivering;  and  not  getting  better 
after  chapel,  but  rather  worse,  he  rang  his  bell  and  begged  to 
see  the  surgeon.  The  surgeon  ought  to  have  been  in  the 
gaol  at  this  hour ;  he  was  not  though,  and  as  he  had  been 
the  day  before,  and  was  accustomed  to  neglect  the  prisoners 
for  any  one  who  paid  better,  he  was  not  expected  this  day. 
Soon  after  Fry  came  to  the  cell  and  ordered  Robinson  out  to 
the  crank.    Robinson  told  him  he  was  too  ill  to  work. 

*T  must  have  the  surgeon's  authority  for  that,  before  I 
listen  to  it,"  replied  Fry,  amateur  of  routine. 

"But  he  is  not  in  the  gaol,  or  you  would  have  it." 

"Then  he  ought  to  be." 

"Well,  is  it  my  fault  he's  shirking  his  duty?  Send  for 
him,  and  you'll  see  he  will  tell  you  I  am  not  fit  for  the  crank 
to-day ;  my  head  is  splitting." 

"Come,  no  gammon,  No.  19;  it  is  the  crank  or  the  jacket, 
or  else  the  black  hole.    So  take  which  you  like  best." 

Robinson  rose  with  a  groan  of  pain  and  despondency. 

"It  is  only  eight  thousand  words  you  have  got  to  say  to  it ; 
and  that  is  not  many  for  such  a  tongue  as  yours." 

At  the  end  of  the  time  Fry  came  to  the  mouth  of  the 
labour-cell  with  a  grim  chuckle :  "He  will  never  have  done 
his  number  this  time."  He  found  Robinson  kneeling  on  th,e 
ground,  almost  insensible,  the  crank-handle  convulsively 
grasped  in  his  hands.  Fry's  first  glance  was  at  this  figure, 
that  a  painter  might  have  taken  for  a  picture  of  labour  over- 
tasked, but  this  was  neither  new  nor  interesting  to  Fry.    He 

120 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

went  eagerly  to  examine  the  meter  of  the  crank — there  lay 
his  heart,  such  as  it  was — and  to  his  sorrow  he  found  that 
No.  19  had  done  his  work  before  he  broke  down.  What  it 
cost  the  poor  fever-stricken  wretch  to  do  it  can  easier  be 
imagined  than  described. 

They  assisted  Robinson  to  his  cell,  and  that  night  he  was 
in  a  burning  fever.  The  next  day  the  surgeon  happened  by 
some  accident  to  be  at  his  post,  and  prescribed  change  of  diet 
and  medicines  for  him.  "He  would  be  better  in  the  in- 
firmary." 

"Why  ?"  said  the  governor. 

"More  air." 

"Nonsense,  there  is  plenty  of  air  here ;  there  is  a  constant 
stream  of  air  comes  in  through  this,"  and  he  pointed  to  a 
revolving  cylinder  in  the  window  constructed  for  that  pur- 
pose. "You  give  him  the  right  stuff,  doctor,"  said  Hawes 
jocosely,  "and  he  won't  slip  his  wind  this  time." 

The  surgeon  acquiesced,  according  to  custom. 

It  was  not  for  him  to  contradict  Hawes,  who  allowed  him 
to  attend  the  gaol  or  neglect  it  according  to  his  convenience, 
i.e.,  to  come  three  or  four  times  a  week  at  different  hours, 
instead  of  twice  every  day  at  fixed  hours. 

It  was  two  days  after  this  that  the  governor  saw  Hodges 
come  out  of  a  cell,  laughing. 

"What  are  ye  grinning  at?"  said  he,  in  his  amiable 
way. 

"No  19  is  light-headed,  sir,  and  I  have  been  listening  to 
him.  It  would  make  a  cat  laugh,"  said  Hodges  apologeti- 
cally. He  knew  well  enough  the  governor  did  not  approve 
of  laughing  in  the  gaol. 

The  governor  said  nothing,  but  made  a  motion  with  his 
hand,  and  Hodges  opened  cell  19,  and  they  both  went  in. 

No.  19  lay  on  his  back  flushed  and  restless,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy.  He  was  talking  incessantly  and  without 
sequence.  I  should  fail  signally  were  I  to  attempt  to  trans- 
fer his  words  to  paper.  I  feel  my  weakness,  and  the  strength 
of  others  who  in  my  day  have  shown  a  singular  power  of 
fixing  on  paper  the  volatile  particles  of  frenzy.  However,  in 
a  word,  the  poor  thief  was  talking  as  our  poetasters  write, 
and  amidst  his  gunpowder,  daffodils,  bosh,  and  other  con- 

121 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

stellations,  there  mingled  gleams  of  sense  and  feeling  that 
would  have  made  you  and  me  very  sad. 

He  often  recurred  to  a  girl  he  called  Mary,  and  said  a 
few  gentle  words  to  her ;  then  off  again  into  the  wildest 
flights.  While  Mr.  Hawes  and  his  myrmidons  were  laughing 
at  him,  he  suddenly  fixed  his  eyes  on  some  imaginary  figure 
on  the  opposite  wall,  and  began  to  cry  out  loudly,  "Take 
him  down.  Don't  you  see  you  are  killing  him?  The  col- 
lar is  choking  him !  See  how  white  he  is !  His  eyes  stare ! 
The  boy  will  die !  Murder,  murder,  murder !  I  can't  bear 
to  see  him  die."  And  with  these  words  he  buried  his  head  in 
the  bed-clothes. 

Mr.  Hawes  looked  at  Mr.  Fry.  Mr.  Fry  answered  the 
look :    "He  must  have  seen  Josephs  the  other  day." 

"Ay,  he  is  mighty  curious.  Well,  when  he  gets  well!" 
and,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  sufferer,  Mr,  Hawes  went  out  of 
the  cell  soon  after. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WHAT  is  your  report,  about  No.  19,  doctor?" 
"The  fever  is  gone." 

"He  is  well,  then?" 

"He  is  well  of  the  fever,  but  a  fever  leaves  the  patient  in 
a  state  of  debility  for  some  days.  I  have  ordered  him  meat 
twice  a-day — that  is,  meat  once  and  soup  once." 

"Then  you  report  him  cured  of  his  fever?" 

"Certainly." 

"Hodges,  put  No.  19  on  the  crank." 

"Yes,  sir/" 

Even  the  surgeon  opened  his  eyes  at  this.  "Why,  he  is  as 
weak  as  a  child."  said  he. 

"Will  it  kill  him?" 

"Certainly  not;  and  for  the  best  of  all  reasons.  He  can't 
possibly  do  it." 

"You  don't  know  what  these  fellows  can  do  when  they  are 
forced." 

The  surgeon  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  passed  on  to  his 
other   patients.     Robinson   was   taken   put    into    the    yard. 

122 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"What  a  blessing  the  fresh  air  is,"  said  he,  gulping  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  yard.  "I  should  have  got  well  long  ago 
if  I  had  not  been  stifled  in  my  cell  for  want  of  room  and 
air." 

Robinson  went  to  the  crank  in  good  spirits.  He  did  not 
know  how  weak  he  was  till  he  began  to  work,  but  he  soon 
found  out  he  could  not  do  the  task  in  the  time.  He  thought, 
therefore,  the  wisest  plan  would  be  not  to  exhaust  him- 
self in  vain  efiforts,  and  he  sat  quietly  down  and  did  nothing. 
In  this  posture  he  was  found  by  Hawes  and  his  myrmidons. 

"What  are  you  doing  there  not  working?" 

"Sir,  I  am  only  just  getting  well  of  a  fever,  and  I  am  as 
weak  as  water." 

"And  that  is  why  you  are  not  trying  to  do  anything,  eh  ?" 

"I  have  tried,  sir,  and  it  is  impossible.  I  am  not  fit  to 
turn  this  heavy  crank." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  try  if  I  can't  make  you.  Fetch  the 
jacket." 

"Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  torture  me,  sir.  There  is 
nobody  more  willing  to  work  than  I  am  ;  and  if  you  will  but 
give  me  a  day  or  two  to  get  my  strength  after  the  fever,  you 
shall  see  how  I  will  work." 

"There,  there ! your  palaver !     Strap  him  up." 

He  was  in  no  condition  to  resist,  and  moreover  knew  re- 
sistance was  useless.  They  jammed  him  in  the  jacket, 
pinned  him  tight  to  the  wall,  and  throttled  him  in  the  collar. 
This  collar,  by  a  refinement  of  cruelty,  was  made  with  un- 
bound edges,  so  that  when  the  victim,  exhausted  with  the 
cruel  cramp  that  racked  his  aching  bones  in  the  fierce  gripe 
of  Hawes'  infernal  machine,  sank  his  heavy  head  and  drooped 
his  chin,  the  jagged  collar  sawed  him  directly,  and  lacerating 
the  flesh  drove  him  away  from  even  this  miserable  approach 
to  ease.  Robinson  had  formed  no  idea  of  the  torture.  The 
victims  of  the  Inquisition  would  have  gained  but  little  by 
becoming  the  victims  of  the  separate  and  silent  system  in 
Gaol. 

They  left  the  poor  fellow  pinned  to  the  wall,  jammed  in 
the  strait  waistcoat,  and  throttled  in  the  round  saw.  Weak- 
ened by  fever  and  unnatural  exertion,  he  succumbed  sooner 
than   the   inquisitors   had   calculated   upon.      The   next   time 

123 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

they  came  into  the  yard  they  found  him  black  in  the  face, 
his  Hps  Hvid,  insensible,  throttled,  and  dying.  Another  half- 
minute  and  there  would  have  hung  a  corpse  in  the  Hawes 
pillory. 

When  they  saw  how  nearly  he  was  gone  they  were  all  at 
him  together.  One  unclasped  the  saw  collar,  one  unbraced 
the  waistcoat,  another  sprinkled  water  over  him — not  a 
bucketful  this  time,  because  they  would  have  wetted  them- 
selves. Released  from  the  infernal  machine,  the  body  of  No. 
19  fell  like  a  lump  of  clay  upon  the  men  who  had  reduced 
him  to  this  condition.  Then  these  worthies  were  in  some 
little  trepidation;  for  though  they  had  caused  the  death  of 
many  men  during  the  last  two  years,  they  had  not  yet,  as  it 
happened,  murdered  a  single  one  on  the  spot  openly  and  hon- 
estly like  this,  and  they  feared  they  might  get  into  trouble. 
Adjoining  the  yard  was  a  bath-room:  to  this  they  carried 
No.  19 ;  they  stripped  him,  and  let  the  water  run  upon  him 
from  the  cock,  but  he  did  not  come  to;  then  they  scrubbed 
him  just  as  they  would  a  brick  floor  with  a  hard  brush  upon 
the  back,  till  his  flesh  was  as  red  as  blood ;  with  this  and 
the  water  together  he  began  to  gasp  and  sigh  and  faintly 
come  back  from  insensibility  to  a  new  set  of  tortures ;  but  so 
long  was  the  struggle  between  life  and  death,  that  these  men 
of  business,  detained  thus  unconsciously  about  a  single  thief, 
lost  all  patience  with  him  ;  one  scrubbed  him  till  the  blood 
came  under  the  bristles,  another  seized  him  by  the  hair  of  his 
head  and  jerked  his  head  violently  back  several  times,  and  this 
gave  him  such  pain  that  he  began  to  struggle  instinctively, 
and,  the  blood  now  fairly  set  in  motion,  he  soon  moved.  The 
last  thing  he  remembered  was  a  body  full  of  aching  bones ; 
the  first  he  awoke  to  was  the  sensation  of  being  flayed  alive 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot. 

The  first  word  he  heard  was — 'Tut  his  clothes  on  his 
shamming  carcass !" 

"Shall  we  dry  him,  sir?" 

"Dry  him!"  roared  the  governor,  with  an  oath.  "No! 
Hasn't  he  given  us  trouble  enough?"     (Another  oath.) 

They  flung  his  clothes  upon  his  red-hot  dripping  skin,  and 
Hodges  gave  him  a  brutal  push.  "Go  to  your  cell."  Rob- 
inson crawled  ofif,  often  wincing,  and  trying  in  vain  to  keep 

124 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

his  clothes  from  rubbing  those  parts  of  his  person  where 
they  had  scrubbed  the  skin  off  him. 

Hawes  eyed  him  with  grim  superiority.  Suddenly  he  had 
an  inspiration.  "Come  back!"  shouted  he.  'T  never  was 
beat  by  a  prisoner  yet,  and  I  never  will.  Strap  him  up." 
At  this  command  even  the  turnkeys  looked  amazed  at  one 
another,  and  hesitated.  Then  the  governor  swore  horribly 
at  them,  and  Hodges  without  another  word  went  for  the 
jacket. 

They  took  hold  of  him ;  he  made  no  resistance ;  he  never 
even  looked  at  them.  He  never  took  his  eye  off  Hawes ;  on 
him  his  eye  fastened  like  a  basilisk.  They  took  him  away, 
and  pinioned,  jammed,  and  throttled  him  to  the  wall  again. 
Hodges  was  set  to  watch  him,  and  a  bucket  of  water  near 
to  throw  over  him  should  he  show  the  least  sign  of  sham- 
ming again.  In  an  hour  another  turnkey  came  and  relieved 
Hodges — in  another  hour  Fry  relieved  him,  for  this  was  tire- 
some work  for  a  poor  turnkey — in  another  hour  a  new  hand 
relieved  Fry,  but  nobody  relieved  No.  19. 

Five  mortal  hours  had  he  been  in  the  vice  without  sham- 
ming. The  pain  his  skin  suffered  from  the  late  remedies, 
and  the  deadly  rage  at  his  heart,  gave  him  unnatural  powers 
of  resistance,  but  at  last  the  infernal  machine  conquered,  and 
he  began  to  turn  dead  faint ;  then  Hodges,  his  sentinel  at  the 
time,  caught  up  the  bucket  and  dashed  the  whole  contents 
over  him.  The  effect  was  magical ;  the  shock  took  away  his 
breath  for  a  moment,  but  the  next  the  blood  seemed  to  glow 
with  fire  in  his  veins,  and  he  felt  a  general  access  of  vigour 
to  bear  his  torture.  When  this  man  had  been  six  hours  in. 
the  vice  the  governor  and  his  myrmidons  came  into  the  yard 
and  unstrapped  him. 

"You  did  not  beat  me,  you  see,  after  all,"  said  the  gover- 
nor to  No.  19.  The  turnkeys  heard  and  revered  their  chief. 
No.  19  looked  him  full  in  the  face  with  an  eye  glittering  like 
a  sabre,  but  said  no  word. 

"Sulky  brute!"  cried  the  governor,  "lock  him  up"  (oath). 
And  that  evening,  as  a  warder  was  rolling  the  prisoner's 
supper  along  the  little  natural  railway  made  by  the  two  rail- 
ings of  corridor  B,  the  governor  stopped  the  carriage  and 
asked  for  19's  tin.    It  was  given  him,  and  he  abstracted  one- 

125 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

half  of  the  man's  gruel.  "Reiractory  in  the  yard  to-day ;  but 
I'll  break  him  before  I've  done  with  him"  (oath). 

The  next  day,  brushes  were  wanted  for  the  gaol.  This 
saved  Robinson  for  that  day.  It  was  little  Josephs'  turn  to 
sufifer.  The  governor  put  him  on  a  favourite  crank  of  his, 
and  gave  him  eight  thousand  turns  to  do  in  four  hours  and 
a-half.  He  knew  the  boy  could  not  do  it,  and  this  was  only  a 
formula  he  wept  through  previous  to  pillorying  the  lad.  Jo- 
sephs had  been  in  the  pillory  about  an  hour,  when  it  so  hap- 
pened that  the  Reverend  John  Jones,  the  chaplain  of  the  gaol, 
came  into  the  yard.  Seeing  a  group  of  warders  at  the  mouth 
of  a  labour-cell,  he  walked  up  to  them,  and  there  was  Josephs 
in  peine  forte  et  dure. 

"What  is  this  lad's  ofifence?"  inquired  Mr.  Jones. 

"Refractory  at  the  crank,"  was  the  reply. 

"Why,  Josephs,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  "you  told 
me  you  would  always  do  your  best." 

"So  I  do,  your  reverence,"  gasped  Josephs,  "but  this  crank 
is  too  heavy  for  a  lad  like  me,  and  that  is  why  I  am  put  on 
it  to  get  punished." 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Hodges  roughly. 

"Why  is  he  to  hold  his  tongue,  Mr.  Hodges?"  said  the 
chaplain  quietly;  "how  is  he  to  answer  my  question  if  he 
holds  his  tongue?     You  forget  yourself." 

"Ugh!  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  this  one  has  always  got 
some  excuse  or  other." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  roared  a  rough  voice  behind  the 
speakers.  This  was  Hawes,  who  had  approached  them  un- 
observed. 

"He  is  gammoning  his  reverence,  sir — that  is  all." 

"What  has  he  been  saying?" 

"That  the  crank  is  too  heavy  for  him,  sir,  and  the  waist- 
coat is  strapped  too  tight,  it  seems." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"I  think  so,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"Will  you  take  a  bit  of  advice,  sir?  If  you  wish  a  prisoner 
well,  don't  you  come  between  him  and  me.  It  will  always  be 
the  worse  for  him,  for  I  am  master  here,  and  master  I  will 
be." 

"Mr.  Hawes,"  replied  the  chaplain,  "I  have  never  done  or 

126 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND- 

said  anything  in  the  prison  to  lessen  your  authority,  but 
privately  I  must  remonstrate  against  the  uncommon  severities 
practised  upon  prisoners  in  this  gaol.  If  you  will  listen  to 
me,  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you ;  if  not,  I  am  afraid  I 
must  as  a  matter  of  conscience  call  the  attention  of  the 
visiting  justices  to  the  question." 

**Well,  parson,  the  justices  will  be  in  the  gaol  to-day;  you 
tell  them  your  story,  and  I  will  tell  them  mine,"  said  Hawes, 
with  a  cool  air  of  defiance. 

Sure  enough,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  two  of  the 
visiting  justices  arrived,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Wright,  a  young 
magistrate.  They  were  met  at  the  door  by  Hawes,  who 
wore  a  look  of  delight  at  their  appearance.  They  went 
round  the  prison  with  him,  whilst  he  detained  them  in  the 
centre  of  the  building,  till  he  had  sent  Hodges  secretly  to 
undo  Josephs  and  set  him  on  the  crank ;  and  here  the  party 
found  him  at  work. 

"You  have  been  a  long  time  on  the  crank,  my  lad,"  said 
Hawes ;  "you  may  go  to  your  cell." 

Josephs  touched  his  cap  to  the  governor  and  the  gentleman, 
and  went  off. 

"That  is  a  nice,  quiet-looking  boy,"  said  one  of  the  jus- 
tices; "what  is  he  in  for?" 

"He  is  in  this  time  for  stealing  a  piece  of  beef  out  of  a 
butcher's  shop." 

"This  time  !  what !  is  he  a  hardened  offender  ?  He  does  not 
look  it." 

"He  has  been  three  times  in  prison ;  once  for  throwing 
stones,  once  for  orchard-robbing,  and  this  time  for  the  beef." 

"What  a  young  villain !  at  his  age !" 

"Don't  say  that,  Williams,"  said  Mr.  Wright  dryly,  "you 
and  I  were  just  as  great  villains  at  his  age.  Didn't  we  throw 
stones?  rather!" 

Hawes  laughed  in  an  adulatory  manner,  but  observing  that 
Mr.  Williams,  who  was  a  grave  pompous  personage,  did  not 
smile  at  all,  he  added — 

"But  not  to  do  mischief,  like  this  one,  I'll  be  bound." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  with  an  air  of  ruffled  dignity. 
,    "No?"  cried  the  other,  "where  is  your  memory?    Why.  we 
threw  stones  at  everything  and  everybody,  and  I  suppose  we 

127 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

did  not  always  miss,  eh?  I  remember  your  throwing  a  stone 
through  the  whidow  of  a  place  of  worship — (this  was  a 
school-fellow  of  mine,  and  led  me  into  all  sorts  of  wicked- 
ness) :  I  say,  was  it  a  Wesleyan  shop,  WilHam,  or  a  Baptist? 
for  I  forget.  Never  mind,  you  had  a  fit  of  orthodoxy.  What 
was  the  young  villain's  second  offence?" 

"Robbing  an  orchard,  sir." 

"The  scoundrel !  robbing  an  orchard  ?  Oh,  what  sweet 
reminiscences  those  words  recall.  I  say,  Williams,  do  yon 
remember  us  two  robbing  Farmer  Harris's  orchard?" 

"I  remember  you  robbing  it,  and  my  character  suffering 
for  it." 

'T  don't  remember  that;  but  I  remember  my  climbing  the 
pear-tree,  and  flinging  the  pears  down,  and  finding  them  all 
grabbed  on  my  descent.  What  is  the  young  villain's  next? 
Oh,  snapping  a  piece  oflf  a  counter.  Ah !  we  never  did  that, 
because  we  could  always  get  it  without  stealing  it." 

With  this  Mr.  Wright  strolled  away  from  the  others,  hav- 
ing had  what  the  jocose  wretch  used  to  call  "a  slap  at  hum- 
bug." 

His  absence  was  a  relief  to  the  others.  These  did  not 
come  there  to  utter  sense  in  fun,  but  to  jest  in  sober  earnest. 

Mr.  Williams  hinted  as  much,  and  Hawes,  whose  cue  it 
was  to  assent  in  everything  to  the  justices,  brightened  his 
face  up  at  the  remark. 

"Will  you  visit  the  cells,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  with  an 
accent  of  cordial  invitation,  "or  inspect  the  book  first  ?" 

They  gave  precedence  to  the  latter. 

By  the  book  was  meant  the  log-book  of  the  gaol.  In  it  the 
governor  was  required  to  report  for  the  justices  and  the 
Home  Office  all  gaol  events  a  little  out  of  the  usual  routine. 
For  instance,  all  punishments  of  prisoners,  all  considerable 
sickness,  deaths,  and  their  supposed  causes,  &c.,  &c. 

"This  Joseph  seems  by  the  book  to  be  an  ill-conditioned 
fellow,  he  is  often  down  for  punishment." 

"Yes  ;  he  hates,  work.  About  Gillies,  sir — ringing  his  bell, 
and  pretending  it  was  an  accident !" 

"Yes;  how  old  is  he?" 

"Thirteen." 

"Is  this  his  first  oflfence?" 

128 


ii 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Not  by  a  good  many.  I  think,  gentlemen,  if  you  were  to 
order  him  a  flogging,  it  would  be  better  for  him  in  the  end." 

"Well,  give  him  twenty  lashes.     Eh!  Palmer?" 

Mr.  Palmer  assented  by  a  nod. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Hawes,  "but  will  you  allow 
me  to  make  a  remark?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Hawes,  certainly !" 

"I  find  twenty  lashes  all  at  once  rather  too  much  for  a  lad 
of  that  age.  Now,  if  you  would  allow  me  to  divide  the 
punishment  into  two,  so  that  his  health  might  not  be  en- 
dangered by  it,  then  we  could  give  him  ten  or  even  twelve, 
and  after  a  day  or  two  as  many  more." 

"That  speaks  well  for  your  humanity,  Mr.  Hawes;  your 
zeal  we  have  long  known." 

"Augh!  sir!  sir!" 

"I  will  sign  the  order ;  and  we  authorize  you  here  to  divide 
the  punishment  according  to  your  own  suggestion." — (order 
signed). 

The  justices  then  went  round  the  cells  accompanied  by 
Hawes.  They  went  into  the  cells  with  an  expression  of  a 
littlje  curiosity,  but  more  repugnance  on  their  faces,  and  asked 
several  prisoners  if  they  were  well  and  contented.  The  men 
looked  with  the  shrewdness  of  their  class  into  their  visitors' 
faces  and  measured  them ;  saw  there^  first  a  feeble  under- 
standing, secondly  an  adamantine  prejudice;  saw  that  in  those 
eyes  they  were  wild  beasts  and  Hawes  an  angel,  and  an- 
swered to  please  Hawes,  whose  eye  was  fixed  on  them  all 
this  time,  and  in  whose  power  they  felt  they  were. 

All  expressed  their  content :  some  in  tones  so  languid  and 
empty  of  heart  that  none  but  Justice  Shallow  could  have 
helped  seeing  through  the  humbug.  Others  did  it  better; 
and  not  a  few  over-did  it,  so  that  any  but  Justice  Shallow 
would  have  seen  through  them.  These  last  told  Messrs. 
Shallow  and  Slender  that  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened 

to  them  was   coming  to  Gaol.     They  thanked  heaven 

they  had  been  pulled  up  short  in  an  evil  career  that  must 
have  ended  in  their  ruin,  body  and  soul.  As  for  their  present 
situation,  they  were  never  happier  in  their  lives,  and  some 
of  them  doubted  much  whether,  when  they  should  reach  the 
penal  settlements,  the  access  of  liberty  would  repay  them  for 

*  129 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

the  increased  temptations  and  the  loss  of  quiet  meditation  and 
self-communion,  and  the  good  advice  of  Mr.  Hawes,  and  of 
his  reverence  the  chaplain. 

The  gaol-birds  who  piped  this  tune  were  without  a  single 
exception  the  desperate  cases  of  this  moral  hospital ;  they 
were  old  offenders — hardened  scoundrels  who  meant  to  rob 
and  kill  and  deceive  to  their  dying  day.  While  in  prison 
their  game  was  to  be  as  comfortable  as  they  could.  Hawes 
could  make  them  uncomfortable ;  he  was  always  there.  Un- 
der these  circumstances,  to  lie  came  on  the  instant  as  natural 
to  them  as  to  rob  would  have  come  had  some  power  trans- 
ported them  outside  the  prison  doors  with  these  words  of 
penitence  on  their  lips. 

They  asked  where  that  Josephs'  cell  was.  Hawes  took 
them  to  him.  They  inspected  him  with  a  profound  zoological 
look,  to  see  whether  it  was  more  wolf  or  badger.  Strange  to 
say,  it  looked  neither,  but  a  simple  quiet  youth  of  the  human 
genus — species  snob. 

"He  is  very  small  to  be  such  a  ruffian,"  said  Mr.  Palmer. 

"I  am  sorry,  Josephs,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  pompously,  "to 
find  your  name  so  often  down  for  punishment." 

Josephs  looked  up,  hoping  to  see  the  light  of  sympathy  in 
this  speaker's  eyes.  He  saw  two  owls'  faces  attempting 
eagle ;  but  not  reaching  up  to  sparrow-hawk,  and  he  was 
silent.  He  had  no  hope  of  being  believed ;  moreover,  the 
grim  eye  of  Hawes  rested  on  him,  and  no  feebleness  in  it. 

Messrs.  Shallow  and  Slender  receiving  no  answer  from 
Josephs,  who  was  afraid  to  tell  the  truth,  were  nettled,  and 
left  the  cell  shrugging  their  shoulders. 

In  the  corridor  they  met  the  train  just  coming  along  the 
banisters  with  supper.  Pompous  Mr.  Williams  tasted  the 
prison  diet  on  the  spot. 

"It  is  excellent,"  cried  he;  "why,  the  gruel  is  like  glue." 
And  he  fell  into  meditation. 

"So  far  everything  is  as  we  could  wish,  Mr.  Hawes,  and  it 
speaks  well  for  the  discipline  and  for  yourself." 

Hawes  bowed  with  a  gratified  air. 

"I  will  complete  the  inspection  to-morrow." 

Hawes  accompanied  the  gentlemen  to  the  outside  gate. 
Here  Mr.  Williams  turned.     For  the  last  minute  or  two  he 

130 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

had  been  in  the  throes  of  an  idea,  and  now  he  deHvered  him- 
self of  it. 

"It  would  be  well  if  Josephs'  gruel  were  not  made  so 
strong  for  him." 

Mr.  Williams  was  not  one  of  those  who  often  say  a  great 
thing,  but  this  deserves  immortality,  and  could  I  confer  im- 
mortality, this  of  Williams'  should  never  die !  Unlike  most 
of  the  things  we  say,  it  does  not  deserve  ever  to  die : — 

"It  would  be  well  if  Josephs'  gruel  were  not  made 

so  STRONG  FOR   HIM  !  !" 


CHAPTER    XII. 

WILL  you  eat  your  mutton    with  me   to-day,  Palmer?" 
said  Mr.  Williams,  at  the  gate  of  the  gaol. 

"I  should  be  very  happy,  but  I  am  engaged  to  dine  with 
the  !crd  lieutenant." 

So  Mr.  Williams  drove  home  to  Ashton  Park,  and  had  to 
sit  down  to  dinner  with  his  own  small  family  party. 

Mr.  Williams'  mutton  consisted  of  first  a  little  strong  gravy 
soup  lubricated  and  gelatinised  with  a  little  tapioca ;  vis-a-vis 
the  soup  a  little  piece  of  salmon  cut  out  of  the  fish's  centre; 
lobster  patties,  rissoles,  and  two  things  with  French  names, 
stinking  of  garlic,  on  the  flank. 

Enter  a  boiled  turkey  poult  with  delicate  white  sauce ;  a 
nice  tongue,  not  too  green  nor  too  salt,  and  a  small  saddle  of 
six-tooth  mutton,  home-bred,  home-fed ;  after  this  a  stewed 
pigeon,  faced  by  greengage  tart,  and  some  yellow  cream 
twenty-four  hours  old;  item,  an  iced  pudding.  A  little  Stil- 
ton cheese  brought  up  the  rear  with  a  nice  salad.  This  made 
way  for  a  foolish,  trifling  dessert  of  muscadel  grapes,  guava 
jelly,  and  divers  kickshaws,  diluted  with  agreeable  wines 
varied  by  a  little  glass  of  Marasquino  and  Co.,  at  junctures. 
So  far  so  nice ! 

But  alas!  nothing  is  complete  in  this  world,  not  even  the 
dinner  of  a  fair  round  justice  with  fat  capon  lined.  There 
is  always  some  drawback  or  deficiency  here  below — con- 
found it !  the  wretch  of  a  cook  had  forgotten  to  send  up  the 
gruel  a  la  Josephs. 

131 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Next  day,  after  Mr.  Williams  had  visited  the  female  pris- 
oners, and  complimented  Hawes  on  having  initiated  them 
into  the  art  of  silence,  he  asked  where  the  chaplain  was. 
Hawes  instantly  despatched  a  messenger  to  inquire,  and  re- 
membering that  gentleman's  threatened  remonstrance,  parried 
him  by  anticipation  thus — 

"By-the-by,  sir,  I  have  a  little  complaint  to  make  of  him." 

"Indeed!"  said  Mr.  Williams,  "what  is  that?" 

"He  took  a  prisoner's  part  against  the  discipline ;  but  he 
doesn't  know  them,  and  they  humbug  him.  But,  sir,  ought 
he  to  preach  against  me  in  the  chapel  of  the  gaol  ?" 

"Certainly  not !  Surely  he  has  not  been  guilty  of  such  a 
breach  of  discipline  and  good  taste." 

"Oh,  but  wait,  sir,"  said  Hawes,  "hear  the  whole  truth, 
and  then  perhaps  you  will  blame  me.  You  must  know,  sir, 
that  I  sometimes  let  out  an  oath.  I  was  in  the  army,  and  we 
used  all  to  swear  there;  and  now  a  little  of  it  sticks  to  me 
in  spite  of  my  teeth,  and  if  his  reverence  had  done  me  the 
honour  to  take  me  to  task  privately  about  it,  I  would  have 
taken  off  my  hat  to  him;  but  it  is  another  thing  to  go  and 
preach  at  me  for  it  before  all  the  gaol." 

"Of  course  it  is.     Do  you  mean  to  say  he  did  that?" 

"He  did,  sir.  Of  course,  he  did  not  mention  my  name,  but 
he  preached  five-ar.d-thirty  minutes  all  about  swearing,  and 
they  all  knew  who  he  was  hitting.  I  could  see  the  warders 
grinning  from  ear  \d  ear,  as  much  as  to  say,  'There's  another 
rap  for  you,  governor !'  " 

"I'll  speak  to  him." 

"Thank  you,  sir ;  don't  be  hard  on  him,  for  he  is  a  deserv- 
ing officer;  but  if  you  would  give  him  a  quiet  hint  not  to 
interfere  with  me.  We  have  all  of  us  plenty  to  do  of  our 
own  in  a  gaol,  if  he  could  but  see  it.  Ah!  here  comes  the 
chaplain,  sir.  I  will  leave  you  together,  if  you  please;"  and 
Mr.  Hawes  made  off  with  a  business  air. 

The  chaplain  came  up  and  bowed  to  Mr.  Williams,  who 
saluted  him  in  turn  somewhat  coldly.  There  was  a  short 
silence.  Mr.  Williams  was  concocting  a  dignified  rebuke. 
Before  he  could  get  it  out  the  chaplain  began — 

"I  wished  to  speak  with  you  yesterday,  sir." 

"I  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  Jones.     What  is  it?" 

132 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

"I  want  you  to  look  into  our  punishments ;  they  are  far 
more  numerous  and  severe  than  they  used  to  be." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  find  them  less  numerous." 

"Why,  there  is  one  punished  every  day." 

"I  have  been  carefully  over  the  books,  and  I  assure  you 
there  is  a  marked  decrease  in  the  number  of  punishments." 

"Then  they  cannot  be  all  put  down." 

"Nonsense,  Mr.  Jones,  nonsense !" 

"And  then  the  severity  of  these  punishments,  sir!  Is  it 
your  wish  that  a  prisoner  should  be  strapped  in  the  jacket 
so  tight  that  we  cannot  get  a  finger  between  the  leather  and 
his  flesh?" 

"Not  unless  he  is  refractory." 

"But  prisoners  are  very  seldom  refractory." 

"Indeed !  that  is  news  to  me." 

"I  assure  you,  sir,  there  are  no  quieter  set  of  men  than 
prisoners  generally.  They  know  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  resistance." 

"They  are  on  their  good  behaviour  before  you.  You  don't 
see  through  them,  my  good  sir.  They  are  like  madmen — 
you  would  take  them  for  lambs  till  they  break  out.  Do  you 
know  a  prisoner  here  called  Josephs  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  perfectly  well." 

"Well,  now,  what  is  his  character,  may  I  ask?" 

"He  is  a  mild,  quiet,  docile  lad." 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  thought  so.  Prisoners  are  the  refuse  of 
the  earth.  The  governor  knows  them,  and  how  to  mat/age 
them.  A  discretion  must  be  allowed  him,  and  I  see  no  rea- 
son to  interfere  between  him  and  refractory  prisoners,  except 
when  he  invites  us." 

"You  are  aware  that  several  attempts  at  suicide  have  been 
made  within  the  last  few  months  ?" 

"Sham  attempts,  yes." 

"One  was  not  sham,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jones  gravely. 

"Oh,  Jackson,  you  mean.  No,  but  he  was  a  lunatic,  and 
would  have  made  awa;-  with  himself  anywhere — Hawes  is 
convinced  of  that." 

"Well,  sir,  I  have  told  you  the  fact;  I  have  remonstrated 
against  the  uncommon  severities  practised  in  this  gaol — 
severities  unknown  in  Captain  O'Conner's  day." 

^33 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"And  I  have  received  and  answered  your  remonstrance, 
sir,  and  there  that  matter  ought  to  end." 

This,  and  the  haughty  tone  with  which  it  was  said,  dis- 
couraged and  nettled  the  chaplain ;  he  turned  red,  and  said — 

"In  that  case,  sir,  I  have  no  more  to  say.  I  have  dis- 
charged my  conscience."  With  these  words  he  was  about  to 
withdraw,  but  Mr.  Williams  stopped  him. 

"Mr.  Jones,  do  you  consider  a  clergyman  justified  in 
preaching  at  people  ?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"The  pulpit  surely  ought  not  to  be  made  a  handle  for  per- 
sonality. It  is  not  the  way  to  make  the  pulpit  itself  re- 
spected." 

"I  don't  vmderstand  you,  sir." 

"Mr.  Hawes  is  much  hurt  at  a  sermon  you  preached 
against  him." 

"A  sermon  against  him — never !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon ;  you  preached  a  whole  sermon  against 
swearing — and  he  swears." 

"Oh — yes  !  I  remember — the  Sunday  before  last.  I  cer- 
tainly did  reprobate  in  my  discourse  the  habit  of  swearing, 
but  no  personality  to  Hawes  was  intended." 

"No  personality  intended  when  you  know  he  swears !" 

"Yes,  but  the  warders  swear  too.  Why  should  Mr.  Hawes 
take  it  all  to  himself?" 

"Oh,  if  the  turnkeys  swear,  then  it  was  not  so  strictly 
personal." 

"To  be  sure,"  put  in  Mr.  Jones  inadvertently,  "I  believe 
they  learned  it  of  the  governor." 

"There,  you  see !  Well,  and  even  if  they  did  not,  why 
preach  against  the  turnkeys?  why  preach  at  any  individuals 
or  upon  passing  events  at  all?  I  can  remember  the  time  no 
clergyman  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land 
noticed  passing  events  from  the  pulpit." 

"I  am  as  far  from  approving  the  practice  as  you  are,  sir." 

"In  those  days  the  clergy  and  laity  respected  one  another, 
and  there  was  peace  in  the  church." 

"I  can  only  repeat,  sir,  that  I  agree  with  you ;  the  pulpit 
should  be  consecrated  to  eternal  truths,  not  passing  events." 

"Good!  very  good!     Well  then?" 

134 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"What  Mr.  Hawes  complains  of  was  a  mere  accident." 

"An  accident,  Mr.  Jones?     Oh,  Mr.  Jones!" 

"An  accident  which  I  undertake  to  explain  to  Mr.  Hawes 
himself." 

"By  all  means ;  that  will  be  the  best  way  of  making  friends 
again.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  a  gaol  could  not  go  on  in 
which  the  governor  and  the  chaplain  did  not  pull  together. 
The  fact  is,  Mr.  Jones,  the  clergy  of  late  have  been  assuming 
a  little  too  much,  and  that  has  made  the  laity  a  Httle  jealous. 
Now,  although  you  are  a  clergyman,  you  are  Her  Majesty's 
servant  so  long  as  you  are  here,  and  must  co-operate  with 
the  general  system  of  the  gaol.  Come,  sir,  you  are  younger 
than  I  am ;  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice — 'Don^t  over- 
step YOUR  DUTY,  &C." 

In  this  strain  Mr.  Williams  buz,  buz,  buzzed  longer  than  I 
can  afford  him  paper,  it  is  so  dear.  He  pumped  a  strain  of 
time-honoured  phrases  on  his  hearer,  and  dissolved  away 
with  him  as  the  overflow  of  a  pump  carries  away  a  straw 
on  its  shallow  stream  down  a  stable-yard. 

When  the  pump  was  pumped  dry,  he  stopped. 

Then  the  chaplain,  who  had  listened  with  singular  polite- 
ness, got  in  a  word.  "You  forget,  sir,  I  have  resigned  the 
chaplaincy  of  the  gaol !" 

"Oh !  ah !  yes !  well,  then,  I  need  say  no  more,  sir ;  good 
day,  Mr.  Jones." 

"Good  morning,  sir." 

Soon  after  this  up  came  Hawes  with  a  cheerful  counte- 
nance. 

"Well,  parson,  are  you  to  manage  the  prisoners  and  I  to 
preach  to  them,  or  are  we  to  go  on  as  we  are?" 

"Things  are  to  go  on  as  they  are,  Mr.  Hawes ;  but  that  is 
nothing  to  me,  I  have  discharged  my  conscience.  I  have  re- 
monstrated against  the  severities  practised  on  our  prisoners. 
Cold  water  has  been  thrown  on  my  remonstrances,  and 
I  shall  therefore  interfere  no  more." 

"That  is  the  wise  way  to  look  at  it,  you  may  depend." 

"We  shall  see  which  was  in  the  right;  I  have  discharged 
my  conscience.  But,  Mr.  Hawes,  I  am  hurt  you  should  say 
I  preached  a  sermon  against  you." 

"I  dare  say  you  are,  sir,  but  who  began  it?  if  you  had  not 

135 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

talked  of  complaining  to  the  justices  of  me  I  should  never 
have  said  a  word  against  you." 

"That  is  all  settled ;  but  it  is  due  to  my  character  to  show 
you  that  I  had  no  intention  of  pointing  at  you  or  any  living 
creature  from  the  pulpit." 

"Well,  make  me  believe  that." 

"If  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  come  to  my  room  I  can 
prove  it  to  you." 

The  chaplain  took  the  governor  to  his  room  and  opened 
two  drawers  in  a  massive  table. 

"Mr.  Hawes,"  said  he,  "do  you  see  this  pile  of  sermons  in 
this  right  hand  drawer?" 

"I  see  them,"  said  Hawes,  with  a  doleful  air;  "and  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  hear  some  of  them  before  long." 

"These,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  smiling  with  perfect  good- 
humour  at  the  innocuous  sneer,  "are  sermons  I  composed 
when  I  was  curate  of  Little-Stoke.  Of  late  I  have  been  go- 
ing regularly  through  my  Little- Stoke  discourses,  as  you  may 
see.  I  take  one  from  the  pile  in  this  drawer,  and  after  first 
preaching  it  in  the  gaol,  I  place  it  in  the  left  drawer  on  that 
smaller  pile." 

"That  you  mayn't  preach  it  again  by  accident ;  well,  that 
is  business." 

"If  you  look  into  the  left  pile  near  the  top,  you  will  find 
the  one  I  preached  against  profane  discourse,  with  the  date 
at  which  it  was  first  composed." 

"Here  it  is,  sir,— Li-ttle-Stoke,  May  15,  1847." 

"Well,  Mr.  Hawkes,  now  was  that  written  against  you? — 
come !" 

"No !  I  confess  it  could  not ;  but  look  here,  if  a  man  sends 
a  bullet  into  me,  it  doesn't  matter  to  me  whether  he  made 
the  gun  on  purpose  or  shot  me  out  of  an  old  one  that  he  had 
got  by  him." 

"But  I  tell  you  that  I  took  the  sermon  out  in  its  turn,  and 
knew  no  more  what  it  was  about  until  I  opened  it  in  the  pul- 
pit, than  I  know  what  this  one  was  about  which  I  am  going 
to  preach  next  Sunday  morning — it  was  all  chance." 

"It  was  my  bad  luck,  I  suppose,"  said  Hawes,  a  little 
sulkily. 

"And  mine  too.     Could  I  anticipate  that  a  discourse  com- 

136 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

posed  for  and  preached  to  a  rural  congregation  would  be 
deemed  to  have  a  personal  application  here?" 

"Well,  no!" 

'T  have  now  only  to  add  that  I  extremely  regret  the  cir- 
cumstance." 

"Say  no  more,  sir.  When  a  gentleman  expresses  his  re- 
gret to  another  gentleman,  there  is  an  end  of  the  grievance." 

"I  will  take  care  that  sort  of  thing  never  happens  again." 

"Enough  said,  sir." 

"It  never  can,  however,  for  I  shall  preach  but  one  more 
Sunday  here." 

"And  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  Mr.  Jones." 

"And  after  this  occurrence  I  am  determined  to  write  both 
sermons  for  the  occasion,  so  there  is  sure  to  be  nothing  per- 
sonal in  them." 

"Yes,  that  is  the  surest  way.  Well,  sir,  you  and  I  never 
had  but  this  one  little  misunderstanding,  and  now  that  is  ex- 
plained, we  shall  part  friends." 

"A  glass  of  ale,  Mr.  Hawes?" 

'T  don't  care  if  I  do,  sir," — (the  glasses  were  filled  and 
emptied) — "I  must  go  and  look  after  my  chickens;  the  jus- 
tices have  ordered  Gillies  to  be  flogged.  You  will  be  there, 
I  suppose,  in  half  an  hour." 

"Well,  if  my  attendance  is  not  absolutely  necessary " 

"We  will  excuse  you,  sir,  if  not  convenient." 

"Thank  you — good  morning!"  and  the  reconciled  officials 
parted. 

Little  Gillies  was  hoisted  to  receive  twenty  lashes ;  at  the 
twelfth  the  governor  ordered  him  down. 

He  broke  off  the  tale  as  our  magazines  do,  with  a  promise 
— "To  be  continued." 

Little  Gillies,  like  their  readers,  cried  out,  "No,  sir.  Oh, 
sir,  please  flog  me  to  an  end.  and  ha'  done  with  it.  I  don't 
feel  the  cuts  near  so  much  now — my  back  seems  dead  like." 

Little  Gillies  was  arguing  against  himself.  Hawes  had  not 
divided  his  punishment  with  the  view  of  lessening  his  pain. 
It  was  droll,  but  more  sad  than  droll,  to  hear  the  poor  little 
fellow  begging  Hawes  to  flog  him  to  an  end,  to  flog  him  out, 
with  similar  idioms. 

"Hold  your   (oath)   noise!"     Hawes  shrank  with   disgust 

137 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

from  noist  in  his  prison,  and  could  not  comprehend  why  the 
prisoners  could  not  take  their  punishments  without  infringing 
upon  the  great  and  glorious  silence  of  which  the  gaol  was  the 
temple  and  he  the  high  priest.  "The  beggars  get  no  good 
by  kicking  up  a  row,"  argued  he. 

"Hold  your  noise ! — take  him  to  his  cell !" 
Whether  it  was  because  he  had  desecrated  the  temple  with 
noise,  or  from  the  accident  of  having  attracted  the  governor's 
attention,  the  weight  of  the  system  fell  on  this  small  object 
now. 

Gillies  was  ordered  to  make  a  fabulous  number  of  crank 
revolutions — fabulous,  at  least,  in  connection  with  his  tender 
age;  he  was  put  on  the  lightest  crank,  but  the  lightest  was 
heavy  to  thirteen  years.  Not  being  the  infant  Hercules  he 
could  not  perform  this  labour;  so  Hawes  put  him  in  jacket 
and  collar  almost  the  whole  day.  His  young  and  supple 
frame  was  in  his  favour,  but  once  or  twice  he  could  hardly 
help  shamming,  and  then  they  threw  half  a  bucket  over  him. 
The  next  day  he  was  put  on  the  crank,  and  not  being  able 
to  complete  the  task  that  was  set  him  before  dinner,  he  was 
strapped  up  until  the  evening.  The  next  day  the  governor 
tried  another  tack.  He  took  away  his  meat,  soup,  and  gruel, 
and  gave  him  nothing  but  bread  and  water.  Strange  to  say, 
this  change  of  diet  did  not  supply  the  deficiency ;  he  could 
not  do  the  infant  Hercules  his  work  even  on  bread  and  water. 
Then  the  governor  deprived  the  obstinate  little  dog  of  his 
chapel.  "If  you  won't  work,  I'm  (participle)  if  you  shall 
pray."  The  boy  missed  the  recreation  of  hearing  Mr.  Jones 
hum  the  Liturgy — missed  it  in  a  way  you  cannot  conceive. 
Your  soporific  was  his  excitement ;  think  of  that. 

Little  Gillies  became  sadly  dispirited  and  weaker  at  the 
crank  than  before ;  ergo,  the  governor  sentenced  him  to  be 
fourteen  days  without  bed  or  gas. 

But  when  they  took  away  his  bed  and  did  not  light  his 
gas,  little  Gillies  began  to  lose  his  temper ;  he  made  a  great 
row  about  this  last  stroke  of  discipline.  "I  won't  live  such  a 
life  as  this,"  said  little  Gillies,  in  a  pet.  "Why  don't  the 
governor  hang  me  at  once  ?" 

"What  is  that  noise  ?"  roared  the  governor,  who  was  in  the 
corridor,  and  had  long  ears. 

138 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"It  is  No.  5  kicking  up  a  row  at  having  his  bed  and  gas 
taken,"  repHed  a  turnkey,  with  a  note  of  admiration  in  his 
voice. 

The  governor  bounced  into  the  cell  "Are  you  grumbling 
at  that,  you  rebellious  young  rascal?  you  forget  there  are  a 
dozen  lashes  owing  you  yet."  Now  the  boy  had  not  forgot- 
ten, but  he  hoped  the  governor  had.  "Well,  you  shall  have 
the  rest  to-morrow." 

With  these  words  ringing  in  his  ears,  little  Gillies  was 
locked  up  for  the  night  at  six  o'clock.  His  companions  dark- 
ness and  unrest — for  a  prisoner's  bed  is  the  most  comfortable 
thing  he  has,  and  the  change  from  it  to  a  stone  floor  is  as 
great  to  him  as  it  would  be  to  us — darkness  and  unrest,  and 
the  cat  waiting  to  spring  on  him  at  break  of  day.  Qii<T  cum 
ita  eranf.  As  the  warder  put  the  key  into  his  cell  the  next 
morning,  he  heard  a  strange  gurgling ;  he  opened  the  door 
quickly,  and  there  was  little  Gillies  hanging ;  a  chair  was 
near  him  on  which  he  had  got  to  suspend  himself  by  his 
handkerchief  from  the  window ;  he  was  black  in  the  face,  but 
struggling  violently,  and  had  one  hand  above  his  head  con- 
vulsively clutching  the  handkerchief.  Fry  lifted  him  up  by 
the  knees,  and  with  some  difficulty  loosed  the  handkerchief. 

Little  Gillies,  as  soon  as  his  throat  could  vent  a  sound, 
roared  with  fright  at  the  recent  peril,  and  then  cried  a  bit, 
finally  expressed  a  hope  his  breakfast  would  not  be  taken 
from  him  for  this  act  of  insubordination. 

This  infraction  of  discipline  was  immediately  reported  to 
the  governor. 

"Little  brute,"  cried  Hawkes  viciously,  "I'll  work  him !" 

"Oh,  he  knew  I  was  at  hand,  sir,"  said  Fry,  "or  he  would 
not  have  tried  it." 

"Of  course  he  would  not.  I  remember  last  night  he  was 
grumbling  at  his  bed  being  taken  away.     I'll  serve  him  out !" 

Soon  after  this  the  governor  met  the  chaplain,  and  told 
him  the  case.  "He  shall  make  you  an  apology," — imperative 
mood  him. 

"Me  an  apology !" 

"Of  course ;  you  are  the  officer  that  has  the  care  of  his 
soul,  and  he  shall  apologise  to  you  for  making  away  with  it 
or  trying  if  on." 

139 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 


1 


This  resolution  was  conveyed  to  Gillies  with  fearful 
threats;  so  when  the  chaplain  visited  him  he  had  got  his  les- 
son pat. 

"I  beg  your  reverence's  pardon  for  hanging  myself,"  began 
he  at  sight,  rather  loud  and  as  bold  as  brass. 

"Beg  the  Almighty's  pardon,  not  mine." 

"No;  the  governor  said  it  was  yours  I  was  to  beg,"  de- 
murred Gillies. 

"Very  well.  But  you  should  beg  God's  pardon  more  than 
mine." 

"For  why,  sir?" 

"For  attempting  your  life,  which  was  His  gift." 

"Oh,  I  needn't  beg  His  pardon ;  He  doesn't  care  what  be- 
comes of  me;  if  He  did  He  wouldn't  let  them  bully  me  as 
they  do  day  after  day,  drat  'em." 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  one  so  young  as  you  so  hardened.  I 
dare  say  the  discipline  of  the  gaol  is  bitter  to  you — it  is  to  all 
idle  boys ;  but  you  might  be  in  a  much  worse  place — and  will, 
if  you  do  not  mend." 

"A  worse  place  than  this,  your  reverence !     Oh,  my  eye !" 

"And  you  ought  to  be  thankful  to  Heaven  for  sending  the 
turnkey  at  that  moment  (here  I'm  sorry  to  say  little  Gillies 
grinned  satirically),  or  you  would  be  in  a  worse  place. 
Would  you  rather  be  here  or  in  hell?"  half  asked,  half  ex- 
plained the  reverend  gentleman  in  the  superior  tone  of  one 
closing  a  discussion  for  ever. 

"In  hell ! ! !"  replied  Gillies,  opening  his  eyes  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  doubt. 

Mr.  Jones  was  dumbfoundered ;  of  all  the  mischances  that 
befall  us  in  argument  this  coup  perplexes  us  most.  He 
looked  down  at  the  little  ignorant  wretch,  and  decided  it 
would  be  useless  to  waste  theology  on  him.  He  fell  instead 
into  familiar  conversation  with  him,  and  then  Gillies,  with 
the  natural  communicativeness  of  youth,  confessed  to  him 
"that  he  had  heard  the  warder  at  the  next  cell  before  he  ven- 
tured to  step  off  the  chair  and  suspend  himself." 

"Well,  but  you  ran  a  great  risk  too.  Suppose  he  had  not 
come  into  your  cell — suppose  he  had  been  called  away  for  a 
minute." 

"I  should  have  been  scragged,  and  no  mistake,"  said  the 

140 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

boy,  with  a  shiver.  Throttling  had  proved  no  joke.  "But  I 
took  my  chance  of  that,"  added  Gillies.  "I  was  deter- 
mined to  give  them  a  fright :  besides,  if  he  hadn't  come,  it 
would  all  be  over  by  now,  sir,  and  all  the  better  for  me,  I 
know." 

Further  communication  was  closed  by  the  crank,  which 
demanded  young  Hopeful  by  its  mouth-piece  Fry.  After 
dinner  ,to  his  infinite  disgust,  he  received  the  other  moiety  of 
his  flogging ;  but  by  a  sort  of  sulky  compensation  his  bed  was 
kicked  into  his  cell  again  at  night  by  Fry,  acting  under  the 
governor's  orders. 

"That  was  not  a  bad  move,  hanging  myself  a  little — a  very 
little,"  said  the  young  prig.  He  hooked  up  his  recovered 
treasure;  and,  though  smarting  all  over,  coiled  himself  up  in 
it,  and  in  three  minutes  forgot  present  pain,  past  dangers,  and 
troubles  to  come. 

The  plan  pursued  with  Robinson  was  to  keep  him  at  low- 
water  mark  by  lowering  his  diet ;  without  this,  so  great  was 
his  natural  energy  and  disposition  to  work,  that  no  crank 
excuse  could  have  been  got  for  punishing  him,  and  at  this 
period  he  was  too  wise  and  self-restrained  to  give  any  other. 
But  after  a  few  days  of  unjust  torture,  he  began  to  lose  hope ; 
and  with  hope  patience  oozed  away  too,  and  his  enemy  saw 
with  grim  satisfaction  wild  flashes  of  mad  rage  come  every 
now  and  then  to  his  eye,  harder  and  harder  to  suppress. 
"He  will  break  out  before  long,"  said  Hawes  to  himself,  "and 
then " 

Robinson  saw  the  game,  and  a  deep  dark  hatred  of  his 
enemy  fought  on  the  side  of  his  prudence.  This  bitter  rag- 
ing struggle  of  contending  passions  in  the  thief's  heart 
harmed  his  soul  more  than  had  years  of  burglary  and  petty 
larceny.  All  the  vices  of  the  old  gaol  system  are  nothing 
compared  with  the  diabolical  effect  of  solitude  on  a  heart 
smarting  with  daily  wrongs. 

Brooding  on  self  is  always  corrupting ;  but  to  brood  on  self 
and  wrongs  is  to  ripen  for  madness,  murder,  and  all  crime. 
Between  Robinson  and  these  there  lay  one  little  bit  of  hope 
— only  one,  but  it  was  a  reasonable  one.  There  was  an  offi- 
cial in  the  gaol  possessed  of  a  large  independent  authority, 
and  paid  (Robinson  argued)  to  take  the  side  of  humanity  in 

141 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

the  place.  This  man  was  the  representative  of  the  national 
religion  in  the  gaol,  as  Hawes  was  of  the  law.  Robinson  was 
too  sharp  at  picking  up  everything  in  his  way,  and  had  been 
too  often  in  prisons  and  their  chapels  not  to  know  that 
cruelty  and  injustice  are  contrary  to  the  Gospel  and  to  the 
national  religion,  which  is  in  a  great  measure  founded  there- 
on. He  therefore  hoped  and  believed  the  chaplain  of  the 
gaol  would  come  between  him  and  his  persecutor  if  he  could 
be  made  to  understand  the  case.  Now  it  happened  just  after 
the  justices  had  thrown  cold  water  on  Mr.  Jones'  little  ex- 
postulation, that  Robinson  was  pinned  to  the  wall,  jammed  in 
the  waistcoat,  and  throttled  in  the  collar.  He  had  been  thus 
some  time,  when,  casting  his  despairing  eyes  around,  they 
alighted  upon  the  comely,  respectable  face  of  Mr.  Jones.  Mr. 
Jones  was  looking  gravely  at  the  victim. 

Robinson  devoured  him  with  his  eyes  and  his  ears.  He 
heard  him  say  in  an  undertone — 

"What  is  this  for?" 

"Hasn't  done  his  work  at  the  crank,"  was  the  answer. 

Then  Mr.  Jones,  after  taking  another  look  at  the  sufferer, 
gave  a  sigh  and  walked  away.  Robinson's  hopes  from  this 
gentleman  rose ;  moreover,  part  of  his  sermon  next  Sunday 
inveighed  against  inhumanity ;  and  Robinson,  who  had  no 
conception  the  sermon  was  several  years  old,  looked  on  it  as 
aimed  at  Hawes  and  his  myrmidons,  and  as  the  precursor  of 
other  and  effective  remonstrances.  Not  long  after  this,  to 
his  delight,  the  chaplain  visited  him  alone.  He  seized  this 
opportunity  of  securing  the  good  man's  interference  in  his 
favour.  He  told  him  in  glowing  words  the  whole  story  of 
his  sufferings ;  and,  with  a  plain  and  manly  eloquence,  ap- 
pealed to  him  to  make  his  chapel  words  good,  and  come  be- 
tween the  bloodhounds  and  their  prey. 

"Sir,  there  are  twenty  or  thirty  poor  fellows  besides  me 
that  will  bless  your  four  bones  night  and  day,  if  you  will  but 
put  out  your  hand  and  save  us  from  being  abused  like  dogs 
and  nailed  to  the  wall  like  kites  and  weasels.  We  are  not 
vermin,  sir,  we  are  men.  Many  a  worse  man  is  abroad  than 
we  that  are  caged  here  like  wild  beasts.  Our  bodies  are 
men's  bodies,  sir,  and  our  hearts  are  men's  hearts.  You 
can't  soften  their  hearts,  for  they  haven't  such  a  thing  about 

142 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

them ;  but  only  just  you  open  your  mouth  and  speak  your 
mind  in  right-down  earnest,  and  you  will  shame  them  into 
treating  us  openly  like  human  beings,  let  them  hate  us  and 
scorn  us  at  bottom  as  they  will.  We  have  no  friend  here, 
sir,  but  you — not  one.     Have  pity  on  us !  have  pity  on  us !" 

And  the  thief  stretched  out  his  hands,  and  fixed  his  ardent 
glistening  eyes  upon  the  successor  of  the  apostles. 

The  successor  of  the  apostles  hung  his  head,  and  showed 
plainly  that  he  was  not  unmoved.  A  moment  of  suspense 
followed — Robinson  hung  upon  his  answer.  At  length  Mr. 
Jones  raised  his  head,  and  said  with  icy  coldness — 

"Mr.  Hawes  is  the  governor  of  this  gaol.  I  have  no  power 
to  interfere  with  his  acts,  supported  as  they  are  by  the  visit- 
ing justices;  and  I  have  but  one  advice  to  give  you :  Submit 
to  the  discipline  and  to  Mr.  Hawes  in  everything;  it  will  be 
the  worse  for  you  if  you  don't." 

So  saying,  he  went  out  abruptly,  leaving  his  petitioner  with 
his  eyes  fixed  ruefully  upon  the  door  by  which  his  last  hope 
had  left  him. 

The  moment  the  reverend  official  had  got  outside  the  door, 
his  countenance,  which  had  fallen,  took  a  complacent  air. 
He  prided  himself  that  he  had  conquered  an  impulse,  an  idle 
impulse. 

"The  poor  fellow  is  in  the  right,"  said  he  to  himself  as  he 
left  the  cell ;  "but  if  I  had  let  him  see  I  thought  so,  he  might 
have  been  encouraged  to  resist,  and  then  he  would  have  only 
suffered  all  the  more." 

And  so  having  done  what  he  calculated  was  the  expedient 
thing  to  do,  he  went  his  way  satisfied  and  at  peace  with  Mr. 
Hawes  and  all  mankind. 

When  he  glided  away  and  took  hope  with  him,  disdain, 
despair,  and  phrenzy  gushed  from  the  thief's  boiling  bosom 
in  one  wild  moan ;  and  with  that  moan  he  dashed  himself  on 
his  face  on  the  floor,  though  it  was  as  hard  as  Hawes  and 
cold  as  Jones. 

Thus  he  lay  crushed  in  blank  despair  a  moment,  the  next 
he  rose  fiercely  to  his  knees.  He  looked  up  through  the  hole 
they  called  his  window,  and  saw  a  little  piece  of  blue  sky  no 
bigger  than  a  Bible ;  he  held  his  hand  up  to  that  blue  sky, 
he  fixed  his  dilating  eye  on  that  blue  sky,  and  with  one  long 

143 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

raging  yell  of  horrible  words  hurled  from  a  heart  set  on  fire 
by  wrongs  and  despair  and  tempting  fiends,  he  cursed  the 
successor  of  the  apostles  before  the  Majesty  of  Heaven. 


CHAPTER    XIIL 

SOLITUDE  is  no  barrier  whatever  to  sin.  Such  prayers 
as  Robinson's  are  a  disgrace  to  those  who  provoke  them, 
but  a  calamity  to  him  who  utters  them.  Robinson  was  now 
a  far  worse  man  than  ever  he  had  been  out  of  prison.  The 
fiend  had  fixed  a  claw  in  his  heart,  and  we  may  be  sure  he 
felt  the  recoil  of  his  ill  prayers.  He  hated  the  human  race, 
which  produced  such  creatures  as  Hawes  and  nothing  to  keep 
them  in  check. 

"From  this  hour  I  speak  no  more  to  any  of  those  beasts !" 

Such  was  his  resolve,  made  with  clenched  teeth  and  nails ; 
and  he  curled  himself  up  like  a  snake,  and  turned  his  back 
upon  mankind  and  his  face  to  the  wall.  Robinson  had  begun 
his  career  in  this  place  full  of  hope.  He  hoped  by  good 
conduct  to  alleviate  his  condition,  as  he  had  done  in  other 
gaols ;  conscious  of  various  talents,  he  hoped  by  skill  as  well 
as  by  good  conduct  to  better  his  condition  even  in  a  gaol ; 
such  hopes  are  a  part  of  our  nature,  and  were  not  in  his  case 
unreasonable.  These  hopes  were  soon  extinguished.  He 
came  down  to  a  confident  hope  that  by  docility  and  good 
conduct  he  should  escape  all  evils  except  those  inseparable 
from  a  prisoner's  lot. 

When  he  discovered  that  Hawes  loved  to  punish  his  pris- 
oners, and  indeed  could  hardly  get  through  the  day  without 
it,  and  that  his  crank  was  an  unavoidable  trap  to  catch  the 
prisoners  and  betray  them  to  punishment,  he  sank  lower  and 
lower  in  despondency,  till  at  last  there  was  but  one  bit  of  blue 
hope  in  all  his  horizon.  He  still  hoped  something  against 
tyranny  and  cruelty  from  the  representative  of  the  gospel  of 
mercy  in  the  place.  But  when  his  reverence  told  him  noth- 
ing was  to  be  expected  from  that  quarter,  his  last  hope  went 
out  and  he  was  in  utter  darkness. 

Yet  Mr.  Jones  was  not  a  hypocrite  nor  a  monster;  he  was 
only   a   common-place    man — a   thing   moulded   by   circum- 

144 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

stances  instead  of  moulding  them.  In  him  the  official  out- 
weighed the  apostle,  for  a  very  good  reason — he  was  com- 
mon-place. This  was  his  defect.  His  crime  was  misplacing 
his  common-place  self.  A  man  has  a  right  to  be  common- 
place in  the  middle  of  the  New  Forest,  or  in  the  great  desert, 
or  at  Fudley-cum-Pipes  in  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire.  But  at 
the  helm  of  a  struggling  nation,  or  in  the  command  of  an 
army  in  time  of  war,  or  at  the  head  of  the  religious  depart- 
ment of  a  gaol,  fighting  against  human  wolves,  tigers,  and 
foxes,  to  be  common-place  is  an  iniquity  and  leads  to 
crime. 

The  man  was  a  humane  man.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to 
be  cruel  to  a  prisoner,  and  his  humanity  was,  like  himself, 
negative  not  positive,  passive  not  active — of  course;  it  was 
common-place  humanity. 

After  looking  on  in  silence  for  a  twelvemonth  or  two,  he 
remonstrated  against  Hawes'  barbarity.  He  would  have  done 
more;  he  would  have  stopped  it — if  it  could  have  been 
stopped  without  any  trouble.  Cold  water  was  thrown  on  his 
remonstrance;  he  cooled  directly. 

Now  cold  water  and  hot  fire  have  been  thrown  on  men 
battling  for  cavises  no  higher  nor  holier  than  this,  yet  neither 
has  fire  been  able  to  wither  nor  water  to  quench  their  honest 
zeal.  But  this  good  soul  on  being  sprinkled  laid  down  his 
arms ;  he  was  common-place.  Moreover,  he  was  guilty  of 
something  besides  cowardice.  He  let  a  small,  egotistical 
pique  sully  as  well  as  betray  a  great  cause.  *'The  justices 
have  thrown  cold  water  on  my  remonstrance — very  well,  gen- 
tlemen, torture  your  prisoners  ad  lihitum;  I  shall  inter- 
fere no  more ;  we  shall  see  which  .was  in  the  right,  you 
or  I." 

This  was  a  narrow  little  view  of  wide  and  terrible  conse- 
quences ;  it  was  infinitesimal  egotism — the  spirit  and  essence 
of  common-place. 

His  inclinations  were  good,  but  feeble — he  was  common- 
place. His  heart  was  good,  but  tepid — he  was  common- 
place. Had  he  loved  the  New  Testament  and  the  Saviour 
of  mankind,  he  would  have  fought  Hawes  tooth  and  nail ;  he 
could  not  have  helped  it ;  but  he  did  not  love  either ;  he  only 
liked  them — he  was  common-place.     When  the  thief  cursed 

145 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

this  man,  he  was  guilty  of  an  extravagance  as  well  as  a 
crime;  the  man  was  not  worth  cursing — he  was  common- 
place. 

The  new  chaplain  arrived  soon  after  these  events.  The 
new  chaplain  was  accompanied  by  his  friend  the  Rev.  James 
Lepel,  chaplain  of  a  gaol  in  the  North  of  England.  After 
five  years'  unremitting  duty  he  was  now  enjoying  a  week's 
leave  of  absence. 

The  three  clergymen  visited  the  cells.  Mr.  Lepel  cross- 
examined  several  prisoners.  The  new  chaplain  spoke  little, 
but  seemed  observant,  and  once  or  twice  made  a  note.  Now 
it  so  happened  that  almost  the  last  cell  they  entered  was  Tom 
Robinson's.  They  found  him  sitting  all  of  a  heap  in  a  corner, 
moody  and  sullen. 

At  sight  of  three  black  coats  and  white  ties  the  thief  opened 
his  eyes,  and  with  a  sort  of  repugnance  turned  his  back  on 
the  intruders. 

"Come,  my  lad,"  said  the  turnkey  sternly,  "no  tricks,  if  you 
please.  Turn  round,"  cried  he  savagely,  "and  make  your 
bow  to  the  gentlemen." 

Robinson  wheeled  round  with  flashing  eyes,  and  checking 
an  evident  desire  to  dash  at  them,  instantly  made  a  bow  so 
very  low,  so  very  obsequious,  and,  by  a  furtive  expression, 
so  contemptuous,  that  Mr.  Lepel  coloured  with  indignation 
and  moved  towards  the  door  in  silence. 

The  turnkey  muttered,  "He  has  been  very  strange  this  few 
days  past.  Mr.  Fry  thinks  he  is  hardly  safe."  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  new  chaplain,  the  man,  whose  name  was  Evans, 
said,  "Better  not  go  into  his  cell  sir,  without  one  of  us  with 
you." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  inquired  the  reverend 
gentleman. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  as  there  is  anything  the  matter  with 
him ;  only  he  has  been  disciplined  once  or  twice,  and  it  goes 
down  the  wrong  way  with  some  of  them  at  first  starting. 
Governor  says  he  will  have  to  be  put  in  the  dark  cell  if  he 
does  not  get  better." 

"The  dark  cell? — ^hum!  Pray,  what  is  the  effect  of  the 
dark  cell  on  a  prisoner?" 

"Well,  sir,  it  cowes  them  more  than  anything." 

146 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

"Where  are  your  dark  cells  ?" 

"They  are  down  below,  sir.  You  can  look  at  them  after 
the  kitchen." 

"I  must  go  into  the  town,"  said  Mr.  Lepel,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "I  promised  to  dine  with  my  relations  at  three 
o'clock." 

"Come  and  see  the  oubliettes  first.  We  have  seen  every- 
thing else." 

"With  all  my  heart." 

They  descended  below  the  ground-floor,  and  then  Evans 
unlocked  a  massive,  tight-fitting  door,  opening  upon  what 
appeared  to  be  a  black  substance;  this  was,  however,  no  sub- 
stance, but  vacancy  without  any  degree  of  light.  The  light 
crossing  the  threshold  from  the  open  door  seemed  to  cut  a 
slice  out  of  it. 

The  new-comers  looked  into  it.  Mr.  Lepel  with  grim  sat- 
isfaction, the  other  with  awe  and  curiosity. 

"When  shall  you  be  back,  Lepel?"  inquired  he  thought- 
fully. 

"Oh,  before  nine  o'clock." 

"Then  perhaps  you  will  both  do  me  the  honour  to  drink  a 
cup  of  tea  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Jones  courteously. 

"With  pleasure." 

"Good-bye,  then,  for  the  present,"  said  the  new  chaplain. 

"Whv,  where  are  you  going?" 

"In  here." 

"What,  into  the  dark  cell?" 

"Yes !" 

"Well !"  ejaculated  Evans. 

"You  won't  stay  there  long." 

"Until  you  return,  Lepel." 

"What  a  fancy !" 

Mr.  Jones  looked  not  a  little  surprised.  The  turnkey 
grinned.  The  reverend  gentleman  stepped  at  once  into  the 
cell,  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

"Do  not  let  me  out  before  eight  o'clock,"  said  his  voice, 
"and  you,  Lepel,  inquire  for  me  as  soon  as  you  return,  for  I 
feel  a  little  nervous.     Now  shut  the  door." 

The  door  was  closed  on  the  reverend  gentleman,  and  the 
little  group  outside,  after  looking  at  one  another  with  a  hu- 

147 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

morous  expression,  separated,  and  each  went  after  his  own 
affairs. 

Evans  lingered  behind,  and  took  a  look  at  the  massy  door, 
behind  which  for  the  first  time  a  man  had  gone  voluntarily, 
and  after  grave  deliberation  delivered  himself  at  long  inter- 
vals of  the  two  following  profound  reflections : — 

"Well,  I'm  blest !" 

"Well,  I'm  blowed !" 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MR.  LEPEL  returned  somewhat  earlier  than  he  had  in- 
tended. On  entering  the  gaol,  it  so  happened  that  he 
met  the  governor,  and  seized  this  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  him. 

He  expressed  at  once  so  warm  an  admiration  of  the  gaol 
and  the  system  pursued  in  it,  that  Hawes  began  to  take  a 
fancy  to  him. 

They  compared  notes,  and  agreed  that  no  system  but  the 
separate  and  silent  had  a  leg  to  stand  on ;  and,  as  they  re- 
turned together  from  visiting  the  ground-floor  cells,  Mr. 
Lepel  had  the  honour  of  giving  a  new  light  to  Hawes  him- 
self. 

"If  I  could  have  my  way,  the  debtors  should  be  in  separate 
cells.     I  w^ould  have  but  one  system  in  a  gaol." 

Hawes  laughed  incredulously.  "There  would  be  a  fine 
outcry  if  we  treated  the  debtors  the  same  as  we  do  the 
rogues." 

"Mr.  Hawes,"  said  the  other  firmly,  "an  honest  man  very 
seldom  finds  his  way  into  any  part  of  a  gaol.  Extravagant 
people,  and  tradesmen  who  have  abused  the  principle  of 
credit,  deserve  punishment,  and  above  all  require  discipline 
and  compulsory  self-communion  to  bring  them  to  amend  their 
ways." 

"That  is  right,  sir,"  cried  Hawes,  a  sudden  light  breaking 
on  him,  "and  it  certainly  is  a  mistake  letting  them  enjoy 
themselves." 

"And  corrupt  each  other." 

Hazves. — A  prison  should  be  confinement. 

148 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Lepel. — And  seclusion  from  all  but  profitable  company. 

Halves. — It  is  not  a  place  of  amusement. 

Lepel. — There  should  be  no  idle  conversation. 

"And  no  noise,"  put  in  Hawes  hastily. 

"However,  this  prison  is  a  model  for  all  the  prisons  in  the 
land,  and  I  shall  feel  quite  sad  when  I  go  back  to  my  duty 
in  Cumberland." 

"Cumberland?  Why,  vou  are  our  new  chaplain,  aren't 
ye?" 

"No ;  I  am  not  so  fortunate ;  I  am  a  friend  of  his ;  my  name 
is  Lepel." 

"Oh,  you  are  Mr.  Lepel;  and  where  is  our  one?  I  heard 
he  had  been  all  over  the  gaol." 

"What,  have  you  not  seen  him  ?" 

"No ;  he  has  never  been  near  me.  Not  very  polite,  I 
think." 

"Oh !  oh !" 

"Hallo!  what  is  wrong?" 

"I  think  I  know  where  he  is ;  he  is  not  far  oflf.  I  will  go 
and  find  him  if  you  will  excuse  me." 

"No;  we  won't  trouble  you.  Here,  Hodges,  come  here. 
Have  you  seen  the  new  chaplain?  where  is  he?" 

"Well,  sir,  Evans  tells  me  he  is" — (click!) 

"Confound  you,  don't  stand  grinning.     Where  is  he?" 

"In  the  black-hole,  sir !" 

"What  d'ye  mean  by  the  black-hole?     The  dust-hole?" 

"No,  sir;  I  mean  the  dark  cells." 

"Then  why  don't  you  say  the  dark  cells?  Has  he  been 
there  long?" 

Mr.  Lepel  answered  the  question.  "Ever  since  three 
o'clock,  and  it  is  nearly  nine ;  and  we  are  both  of  us  to  drink 
tea  with  Mr.  Jones." 

Mr.  Hawes  showed  no  hurry.  "What  did  he  want  to  go 
in  them  for?" 

"I  have  no  idea,  unless  it  was  to  see  what  it  is  like." 

"Well,  but  I  like  that !"  said  Hawes.  "That  is  entering 
into  the  system.     Let  us  see  how  he  comes  on." 

Mr.  Hawes,  Mr.  Lepel,  and  Hodges  went  to  the  dark  cells ; 
on  their  way  they  were  joined  by  Evans. 

The  governor  took  out  his  own  keys,  and  Evans  having 

149 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

indicated  the  cell,  for  there  were  three,  he  unlocked  it,  and 
threw  the  door  wide  open.  They  all  looked  in,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen. 

"I  hope  nothing  is  the  matter,"  said  Mr.  Lepel,  in  consid- 
erable agitation,  and  he  groped  his  way  into  the  cave.  As 
he  put  out  his  hand,  it  was  taken  almost  violently  by  the  self- 
immured,  who  cried — 

"Oh,  Lepel !"  and  held  him  in  a  strong  but  tremulous 
grasp.  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  said  more  calmly,  "The  light 
dazzles  me !  the  place  seems  on  fire  now !  Perhaps  you  will 
be  kind  enough  to  lend  me  your  arm,  Lepel." 

Mr.  Lepel  led  him  out ;  he  had  one  hand  before  his  eyes, 
which  he  gradually  withdrew  while  speaking.  He  found 
himself  in  the  middle  of  a  group,  with  a  sly  sneer  on  their 
faces  mixed  with  some  curiosity. 

"How  long  have  I  been  there?"  asked  he  quietly. 

"Six  hours ;  it  is  nine  o'clock." 

"Only  six  hours  ?  incredible !" 

"Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  are  not  sorry  to  be  out?" 

"This  is  Mr.  Hawes,  the  governor,"  put  in  Mr.  Lepel. 

Hawes  continued  jocosely,  "What  does  it  feel  like,  sir?" 

"I  shall  have  the  honour  of  telling  you  that  in  private, 
Mr.  Hawes.  I  think,  Lepel,  we  have  an  engagement  with 
Mr.  Jones  at  nine  o'clock."  So  saying,  the  new  chaplain, 
with  a  bow  to  the  governor,  took  his  friend's  arm,  and  went 
to  tea  with  Mr.  Jones. 

"There,  now,"  said  Hawes  to  the  turnkeys,  "that  is  a  gen- 
tleman. He  doesn't  blurt  everything  out  before  you  fellows ; 
he  reserves  it  for  his  superior  officer." 

Next  morning  the  new  chaplain  requested  Mr.  Lepel  to 
visit  the  prisoners'  cells  in  a  certain  order,  and  make  notes  of 
their  characters  as  far  as  he  could  guess  them.  He  himself 
visited  them  in  another  order,  and  made  his  notes.  In  the 
evening  they  compared  these.     We  must  be  content  with  an 

extract  or  two. 

fa 

Mr.  Lepel's.  The  New   Chaplain's. 

Rock,  No,  27. — A   very  promis-       37,  Rock. — Professes     penitence. 

ing  subject,  penitent  and  resigned.    Asked    him    suddenly    what    sins 

Says,  "If  the   door  of  the   prison    weighed   most    on   his   conscience. 

was    left    open    he    would    not   go    No  answer.     Preoared  with  an  ab- 

150 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


Mr.  Lepel's. 


The  New  Chaplain's. 


out."  Has  learned  250  texts,  and  stract  penitence,  but  no  particu- 
is  learning  fifteen  a  day.  lars ;   reason  obvious. 

Mem.  With  this  man  speak  on 
any  topic  rather  than  religion  at 
present.  Pray  for  this  self-deceiver 
as  I  would  for  a  murderer. 

Josephs,  No.     .—An  interesting       Josephs  .—An  amiable  boy; 

boy ;  Ignorant,  but  apparently  well-  seems  out  of  health  and  spirits, 
disposed.  In  ill  health.  The  sur-  Says  he  has  been  overworked  and 
geon  should  be  consulted  about  punished  for  inability.  Shall  inter- 
him-  cede  with  the  governor  for  him. 

Menu  Pale  and  hollow-eyed; 
pulse   feeble. 


Struit,  No.  . — Sullen,  impeni- 
tent, and  brutal.  Says  it  is  no  use 
his  learning  texts,  they  won't  stay 
in  his  head.  Discontented ;  wants 
to  go  out  in  the  yard.  The  best  one 
can  hope  for  here  is,  that  the  pun- 
ishment, which  he  finds  so  severe, 
will  deter  him  in  future.  Says  he 
will  never  come  here  again,  but 
doubts  whether  he  shall  get  out 
alive.   Gave  him  some  tracts. 


Jessup. — The  prisoner  whose 
term,  owing  to  his  excellent  con- 
duct, is  reduced  from  twelve 
months  to  nine  months,  so  that  he 
goes  out  next  week.  Having  dis- 
covered that  the  news  had  not 
been  conveyed  to  him,  I  asked  Mr. 
Hawes  to  let  me  be  the  bearer. 
When  I  told  him,  his  only  remark 
was,  with  an  air  of  regret,  "Then 
I  shall  not  finish  my  Gospels !"  I 
begged  for  an  explanation,  when 
he  told  me  that  for  eight  months 
he  had  been  committing  the  Gos- 
pels to  heart,  and  that  he  was  just 
beginning  St.  John,  which  now 
he  should  never  finish.  I  said  he 
must  finish  it  at  home  in  the  in- 
tervals of  honest  labour.  His 
countenance  brightened,  and  he 
said  he  would. 

A  most  cheering  case,  and  one 

15 


Striitt. — This  poor  man  is  in  a 
state  of  deep  depression.  I  much 
fear  the  want  of  light,  and  air,  and 
society  is  crushing  him.  He  is 
fifty  years  old. 

Mem.  Inquire  whether  separate 
confinement  tries  men  harder  af- 
ter a  certain  age.  Talked  to  him ; 
told  him  stories  with  all  the  ani- 
mation I  could.  Stayed  half  an 
hour  with  him ;  he  brightened  up 
a  little,  and  asked  me  to  come 
again.  Nothing  to  be  done  here 
at  present  but  amuse  the  poor 
soul. 

Mem.    Watch  him  jealously. 

Jessup. — Like  Rock,  professes 
extravagant  penitence,  indifference 
to  personal  liberty,  and  love  of 
Scripture.  He  overdoes  it  great- 
ly ;  however,  it  appears  he  has 
gained  his  point  by  it.  He  has  in 
duced  Mr.  Jones  to  plead  for  him 
in  mitigation  of  punishment,  and 
next  week  he  leaves  prison  for  a 
little  while. 

He  asked  me  to  hear  him  some 
texts.  I  said,  "No,  my  poor  fel- 
low ;  they  will  do  you  as  much 
good  whether  I  hear  you  them  or 
not."  By  a  light  that  flashed  into  his 
eye  I  saw  he  comprehended  the 
equivoque ;  but  he  suppressed  his 
intelligence,  and  answered  piously, 
"That  they  will,  your  reverence." 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

Mr.  Lepel's.  The  New  Chaplain's. 

of  the  best  proofs  of  <the  efficacy 
of  the  separate  and  silent  system 
I  have  met  with  for  some  time.  I 
fear  I  almost  grudge  you  the  pos- 
session of  such  an  example. 

Robinson. — A  bad  subject,  re-  Robinson. — This  man  wears  a 
bellious  and  savage;  refuses  to  singular  look  of  scorn  as  well  as 
speak.  Time  and  the  discipline  hatred,  which,  coupled  with  his 
will  probably  break  him  of  this;  repeated  refusals  to  speak  to  me, 
but  I  do  not  think  he  will  ever  provoked  me  so  that  I  felt  strong- 
make  a  good  prisoner.  ly   tempted   to   knock   him   down. 

How  unworthy,  to  be  provoked  at 
anything  a  great  sufferer  can  say 
or  do ;  every  solitary  prisoner 
must  surely  be  a  great  sufferer. 

My  judgment  is  quite  at  fault 
here.  I  know  no  more  than  a.  child 
what  is  this  man's  character,  and 
the  cause  of  his  strange  conduct.. 
Mem.  Inquire  his  antecendents 
of  the  turnkeys.  Oh,  Lord,  en- 
lighten me,  and  give  me  wisdom 
for  the  great  and  deep  and  diffi- 
cult task  I  have  so  boldly  under- 
taken. 

The  next  day  the  new  chaplain  met  the  surgeon  in  the  gaol, 
and  took  him  into  Josephs'  cell. 

"He  only  wants  a  little  rest  and  nourishing  food ;  he  would 

be  the  better  for  a  little  amusement,  but "  and  the  man 

of  science  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Can  you  read?"  said  Mr.  Lepel. 

"Very  Httle,  sir." 

"Let  the  schoolmaster  come  to  him  every  day,"  suggested 
that  experienced  individual.  He  knew  what  separate  con- 
finement was.  What  bores  a  boy  out  of  prison  amuses  him 
in  it. 

Hawes  gave  a  cold  consent.  So  poor  little  Josephs  had  a 
richer  diet  and  rest  from  crank  and  pillory,  and  the  school- 
master spent  half  an  hour  every  day  teaching  him ;  and  above 
all,  the  new  chaplain  sat  in  his  cell  and  told  him  stories  that 
interested  him — told  him  how  very  wicked  some  boys  had 
been ;  what  a  many  clever  wicked  things  they  had  done  and 
not  been  happy,  then  how  they  had  repented  and  learned  to 
pray  to  be  good,  and  how  by  divine  help  they  had  become 

152 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

good,  and  how  some  had  gone  to  heaven  soon  after,  and 
were  now  happy  and  pure  as  the  angels ;  and  others  had 
stayed  on  earth  and  were  good  and  honest  and  just  men ;  not 
so  happy  as  those  others  who  were  dead,  but  content  (and 
that  the  wicked  never  are),  and  waiting  God's  pleasure  to  go 
away  and  be  happy  for  ever. 

Josephs  listened  to  the  good  chaplain's  tales  and  conversa- 
tion with  wonderful  interest,  and  his  face  always  brightened 
when  that  gentleman  came  into  his  cell.  The  schoolmaster 
reported  him  not  quick,  but  docile.  These  were  his  halcyon 
days. 

But  Robinson  remained  a  silent  basilisk.  The  chaplain 
visited  him  every  day,  said  one  or  two  kind  words  to  him, 
and  retired  without  receiving  a  word  or  a  look  of  acknowl- 
edgment. One  day,  surprised  and  hurt  by  this  continued  ob- 
duracy, the  chaplain  retired  with  an  audible  sigh,  Robinson 
heard  it,  and  ground  his  teeth  with  satisfaction.  Solitary, 
tortured,  and  degraded,  he  had  still  found  one  whom  he 
could  annoy  a  little  bit. 

The  governor  and  the  new  chaplain  agreed  charmingly; 
constant  civilities  passed  between  them.  The  chaplain  assist- 
ed Mr.  Hawes  to  turn  the  phrases  of  his  yearly  report,  and 
Mr.  Hawes  more  than  repaid  him  by  consenting  to  his  in- 
troducing various  handicrafts  into  the  prison — at  his  own 
expense,  not  the  county's. 

"Parson  must  have  got  a  longer  purse  than  most  of  us," 
thought  Hawes,  and  it  increased  his  respect. 

Hawes  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  much  as  to  say,  "You 
are  just  flinging  your  money  into  the  dirt ;"  but  the  other, 
interpreting  his  look,  said — 

"I  hope  more  good  from  this  than  from  all  the  sermons  I 
shall  preach  in  your  chapel." 

Probably  Mr,  Hawes  would  not  have  been  so  indifferent 
had  he  known  that  this  introduction  of  rational  labour  was 
intended  as  the  first  step  towards  undermining  and  expelling 
the  sacred  crank. 

This  clergyman  had  a  secret  horror  and  hatred  of  the 
crank.  He  called  it  a  monster  got  by  folly  upon  science  to 
degrade  labour  below  theft;  for  "theft  is  immoral,  but  crank 
labour  is  immoral  and  idiotic  too."  said  he.     The  crank  is  a 

153 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

diabolical  engine  to  keep  thieves  from  ever  being  anything 
but  thieves.  He  arrived  at  this  conclusion  by  a  chain  of  rea- 
soning for  which  there  is  no  room  in  a  narrative  already 
smothered  in  words. 

This  antipathy  to  the  crank  quite  overpowered  him.  He 
had  been  now  three  weeks  in  the  gaol,  and  all  that  time  only 
thrice  in  the  labour-yard.  It  cut  his  ^understanding  like  a 
knife  to  see  a  man  turn  a  handle  for  hours  and  nothing 
come  of  it. 

However,  one  day,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  he  forced  himself 
into  the  labour-yard,  and  walked  wincing  down  the 
row. 

"These  are  our  schoolmen,"  said  he.  "As  the  schoolmen 
laboured  most  intellectually  and  scientifically — practical  re- 
sult, 7iil,  so  these  labour  harder  than  other  men — result,  nil. 
This  is  literally  'beating  the  air.'  The  ancients  imagined 
tortures  particularly  trying  to  nature,  that  of  Sisyphus  to  wit ; 
everlasting  labour  embittered  by  everlasting  nihilification. 
We  have  made  Sisyphism  vulgar.  Here  are  fifteen  Sisyphi. 
Only  the  wise  or  ancients  called  this  thing  infernal  torture; 
our  old  women  call  it  salutary  discipline." 

He  was  running  on  in  this  style,  heaping  satire  and  sorrow 
upon  the  crank,  when  suddenly,  at  the  mouth  of  one  of  the 
farthest  cells,  he  stopped  and  threw  up  his  hands  with  an 
ejaculation  of  astonishment  and  dismay.  There  was  a  man 
jammed  in  a  strait  waistcoat,  pinned  against  the  wall  by  a 
strap,  and  throttling  in  a  huge  collar;  his  face  was  white, 
his  lips  livid,  and  his  eyes  rolling  despairingly :  it  was 
Thomas  Robinson.  This  sight  took  away  the  chaplain's 
breath.  When  he  recovered  himself,  "What  is  this?"  said 
he  to  the  turnkey  sternly. 

"Prisoner  refractory  at  the  crank,"  answered  Hodges  dog- 
gedly. 

The  clergyman  walked  up  to  Robinson  and  examined  the 
collar,  the  waistcoat,  and  the  strap.  "Have  you  the  govern- 
or's authority  for  this  act?"  said  he  firmly. 

"Rule  is  if  they  won't  do  their  work,  the  jacket." 

"Have  you  the  governor's  authority  for  this  particular 
act?" 

"In  a  general  way  we  have." 

154 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"In  a  word,  you  are  not  acting  under  his  authority,  and 
you  know  it.     Take  the  man  down  this  moment." 

The  men  hesitated. 

"If  you  don't  I  shall." 

The  turnkeys,  a  little  staggered  by  his  firmness,  began  to 
confer  in  whispers.  The  chaplain,  who  was  one  of  your 
decided  men,  could  not  wait  the  consultation.  He  sprang  to 
Robinson's  head,  and  began  to  undo  the  collar.  The  others, 
seeing  this  decided  move,  came  and  helped  him.  The  collar 
and  the  strap  being  loosed,  the  thief's  body,  ensacked  as  it 
was,  fell  helplessly  forward.  He  had  fainted  during  the  dis- 
cussion ;  in  fact,  his  senses  were  shut  when  the  chaplain  first 
came  to  the  cell.  The  chaplain  caught  him,  and,  being  a 
very  strong  man,  saved  him  from  a  dangerous  fall,  and  seated 
him  gently  with  his  back  to  the  wall.  Water  was  sprinkled 
in  his  face.  The  chaplain  went  hastily  to  find  the  governor. 
He  came  to  him  pale  and  out  of  breath. 

"I  found  the  turnkeys  outraging  a  prisoner." 

"Indeed !"  said  the  governor.  It  was  a  new  idea  to  him 
that  anything  could  be  an  outrage  on  a  prisoner. 

"They  confessed  they  had  not  your  authority,  so  I  took 
upon  me  to  undo  their  act." 

"Humph !" 

"I  now  leave  the  matter  in  your  hands,  sir." 

"I  will  see  into  it^  sir." 

The  chaplain  left  Mr.  Hawes  abruptly,  for  he  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  languor  and  nausea ;  he  went  to  his  own  house, 
and  there  he  was  violently  sick.  Shaking  off  as  quickly  as 
he  could  this  weakness,  he  went  at  once  to  Robinson's  cell. 
He  found  him  coiled  up  like  a  snake.  He  came  hastily  into 
the  cell  with  the  natural  effusion  of  a  man  who  had  taken 
another  man's  part. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  one  question  : — What  had  you  done 
that  they  should  use  you  like  that?" 

No  answer. 

"It  is  not  from  idle  curiosity  I  ask  you,  but  that  I  may  be 
able  to  advise  you,  or  intercede  for  you  if  the  punishment 
should  appear  too  severe  for  the  offence." 

No  answer. 

"Come,  I  would  wait  here  ever  so  long  upon  the  chance 

155 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

of  your  speaking  to  me  if  you  were  the  only  prisoner,  but 
there  are  others  in  their  sohtude  longing  for  me.  Time  is 
precious ;  will  you  speak  to  one  who  desires  to  be  your 
friend?" 

No  answer. 

A  flush  of  impatience  and  anger  crossed  the  chaplain's 
brow :  in  most  men  it  would  have  found  vent  in  words.  This 
man  but  turned  away  to  hide  it  from  its  object.  He  gulped 
his  brief  ire  down  and  said  only,  "So  then  I  am  never  to  be 
any  use  to  you,"  and  went  sorrowfully  away. 

Robinson  coiled  himself  up  a  little  tighter,  and  hugged  his 
hatred  of  all  mankind  closer,  like  a  treasure  that  some  one 
had  just  tried  to  do  him  out  of. 

As  the  chaplain  came  out  of  his  cell  he  was  met  by  Hawes, 
whose  countenance  wore  a  gloomy  expression  that  soon  found 
its  way  into  words. 

"The  chaplain  is  not  allowed  to  interfere  between  me  and 
the  prisoners  in  this  gaol." 

"Explain,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"You  have  been  and  ordered  my  turnkeys  to  relax  punish- 
ment." 

"You  forget,  Mr.  Hawes,  I  explained  to  you  that  they 
were  acting  without  the  requisite  authority  from  you." 

"That  is  all  right,  and  I  have  called  them  to  account,  but 
then  you  are  not  to  order  ,them  either ;  you  should  have  ap- 
plied to  me." 

"I  see !  I  see !  Forgive  me  this  little  breach  of  routine 
where  a  human  creature's  sufferings  would  have  been  pro- 
longed by  etiquette." 

"Ugh!     Well  it  must  not  occur  again." 

"I  trust  the  occasion  will  not." 

"For  that  matter,  you  will  often  see  refractory  prisoners 
punished  in  this  gaol.  You  had  better  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness in  the  gaol,  it  will  find  you  work  enough." 

"I  will,  Mr.  Hawes;  to  dissuade  men  from  cruelty  is  a 
part  of  it." 

"If  you  come  between  me  and  the  prisoners,  sir,  you  won't 
be  long  here." 

The  new  chaplain  smiled. 

"What  does  it  matter  whether  I'm  here  or  in  Patagonia,  so 

156 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MENU 

that  I  do  my  duty  wherever  I  am?"  said  he  with  a  fine  mix- 
ture of  good-humour  and  spirit. 

Hawes  turned  his  back  rudely,  and  went  and  reduced  Rob- 
inson's supper  fifty  per  cent. 

"Evans,  is  that  sort  of  punishment  often  inflicted  here?" 

"Well,  sir,  yes.     It  is  a  common  punishment  of  this  gaol." 

"It  must  be  very  painful." 

"No,  sir,  it's  a  little  oncomfortable,  that  is  all ;  and  then 
we've  got  such  a  lot  here,  we  are  obliged  to  be  down  on  'em 
like  a  sledge-hammer,  or  they'd  eat  us  up  alive." 

"Have  you  got  the  things,  the  jacket,  collar,  &c.  ?" 

"I  know  where  to  find  them,"  said  Evans  with  a  sly  look. 

"Bring  them  to  me  directly  to  this  empty  cell." 

"Well,  sir,"  higgled  Evans,  "in  course  I  don't  like  to  refuse 
your  reverence." 

"Then  don't  refuse  me,"  retorted  the  other,  sharp  as  a 
needle. 

Evans  went  off  directly  and  soon  returned  with  the  mate- 
rials. The  chaplain  examined  them  awhile;  he  then  took  off 
his  coat. 

"Operate  on  me,  Evans." 

"Operate  on  you,  sir?" 

"Yes !  There,  don't  stand  staring,  my  good  man,  hold  up 
the  waistcoat — now  strap  it  tight — tighter — no  nonsense — 
Robinson  was  strapped  tighter  than  that  yesterday.  I  want 
to  know  what  we  are  doing  to  our  fellow-creatures  in  this 
place.     The  collar  now." 

"But,  sir,  the  collar  will  nip  you.  I  tell  you  that  before- 
hand." 

"Not  more  than  it  nips  my  prisoners.  Now  strap  me  to 
the  wall.     Why  do  you  hesitate?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  am  doing  right,  sir,  you  being  a 
parson.     Perhaps  I  shall  have  no  luck  after  this." 

"Don't  be  silly,  Evans.  Volenti  non  iit  injuria — that  means, 
you  may  torture  a  bishop  if  he  bids  you." 

"There  you  are,  sir." 

"Yes,  here  I  am !  Now  go  away  and  come  in  half  an 
hour." 

"I  think  I  had  better  stay,  sir.     You  will  soon  be  sick  of  it." 

"Go,  and  come  in  half  an  hour,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

157 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

Our  chaplain  felt  that  if  the  man  did  not  go  he  should  not 
be  five  minutes  before  he  asked  to  be  released,  and  he  was 
determined  to  know  "what  we  are  doing." 

Evans  had  not  been  gone  ten  minutes  before  he  bitterly  re- 
pented letting  him  go;  and  when  that  worthy  returned  he 
found  him  muttering  faintly,  "It  is  in  a  good  cause — it  is  in  a 
good  cause." 

Evans  wore  a  grin. 

"You  shall  pay  for  that  grin,"  said  the  chaplain  to  himself. 

"Well,  sir,  have  you  had  enough  of  it?" 

"Yes,  Evans ;  you  may  loose  me,"  said  the  other  with 
affected  nonchalance. 

"What  is  it  like,  sir  ?     Haw  !  haw  !" 

"It  is  as  you  described  it,  owcomfortable ;  but  the  knowl- 
edge I  have  gained  in  it  is  invaluable.     You  shall  share  it." 

"With  all  my  heart,  sir ;  you  can  tell  me  what  it  is  like." 

"Oh,  no !  such  knowledge  can  never  be  imparted  by  de- 
scription ;  you  shall  take  your  turn  in  the  jacket.". 

"Not  if  I  know  it." 

"What,  not  for  the  sake  of  knowledge." 

"Oh,  I  can  guess  what  it  is  like." 

"But  3'ou  will  oblige  me?" 

"Some  other  way,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"Besides,  I  will  give  you  a  guinea." 

"Oh,  that  alters  the  case,  sir.     But  only  for  half  an  hour." 

"Only  for  half  an  hour." 

Evans  was  triced  up  and  pinned  to  the  wall ;  the  chaplain 
took  out  a  guinea  and  placed  it  in  his  sight  and  walked  out. 

In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned,  and  there  was  Evans,  his 
face  drawn  down  by  pain. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  it?" 

"Oh,  pretty  well,  sir;  it  isn't  worth  making  an  outcry 
about." 

"Only  a  little  oncomfortable." 

"That  is  all ;  if  it  wasn't  for  the  confounded  cramp." 

"Let  us  compare  notes,"  said  the  chaplain,  sitting  down 
opposite.  "I  found  it  worse  than  uncomfortable.  First 
there  was  a  terrible  sense  of  utter  impotence,  then  came  on 
racking  cramps,  for  which  there  was  no  relief,  because  I 
could  not  move." 

158 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Oh !" 

"What?" 

"Nothing,  sir  !     Mum — mum — dear  guinea  !" 

"The  jagged  collar  gave  me  much  pain  too;  it  rasped  my 
poor  throat  like  a  file." 

"Why  the  dickens  didn't  you  tell  me  all  this  before,  sir," 
said  Evans  ruefully ;  "it  is  no  use  now  I've  been  and  gone 
into  the  same  oven  like  a  fool." 

"I  had  my  reasons  for  not  telling  you  before.  Good-bye 
for  the  present." 

"Don't  stay  over  the  half  hour,  for  goodness  sake,  sir." 

"No;  adieu  for  the  present." 

He  did  not  go  far :  he  listened  and  heard  the  plucky  Evans 
groan.     He  came  hastily  in. 

"Courage,  my  fine  fellow,  only  eight  minutes  more  and  the 
guinea  is  yours." 

"How  many  more  minutes,  sir?" 

"Eight." 

"Then,  oh !  undo  me,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"What !  forfeit  the  guinea  for  eight  minutes — seven,  it  is 
only  seven  now." 

"Hang  the  guinea,  let  me  down,  sir,  if  there's  pity  in 
you." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  pocket- 
ing the  guinea,  and  he  loosed  Evans  with  all  speed. 

The  man  stretched  his  limbs  with  ejaculations  of  pain  be- 
tween every  stretch,  and  put  his  handkerchief  on  very  gin- 
gerly. He  looked  sulky  and  said  nothing.  The  other 
watched  him  keenly,  for  there  was  something  about  him  that 
showed  his  mind  was  working. 

"There  is  your  guinea." 

"Oh,  no !  I  didn't  earn  it." 

"Oh,  if  you  think  that  (putting  it  to  the  lips  of  his  pocket), 
let  me  make  you  a  present  of  it"  (handing  it  out  again). 
Evans  smiled.  "It  is  a  good  servant.  That  little  coin  has 
got  me  one  friend  more  for  these  poor  prisoners.  You  don't 
understand  me,  Evans.  Well,  you  will.  Now,  look  at  me; 
from  this  moment,  sir,  you  and  I  stand  on  a  dififerent  footing 
from  others  in  this  gaol.  We  know  what  we  are  doing  when 
we  put  a  prisoner  in  that  thing ;  the  others  don't.     The  great- 

159 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

er  the  knowledge,  the  greater  the  guilt.  May  we  both  be 
kept  from  the  crime  of  cruelty.     Good  night !" 

"Good  night,  your  reverence !"  said  the  man  gently,  awed 
by  his  sudden  solemnity. 

The  chaplain  retired.  Evans  looked  after  him,  and  then 
down  into  his  own  hand. 

"Well,  I'm  blowed! — well,  I'm  blest! — Got  a  guinea, 
though ! !" 


CHAPTER   XV. 

GOVERNOR  HA  WES  had  qualities  good  in  themselves, 
but  ill-directed,  and  therefore  not  good  in  their  results 
— determination  for  one.  He  was  not  a  man  to  yield  a  step 
to  opposition.  He  was  a  much  greater  man  than  Jones :  he 
was  like  a  torrent,  to  whose  progress  if  you  oppose  a  great 
stone,  it  brawls  and  struggles  past  it  and  round  it  and  over 
it  with  more  vigour  than  before. 

"I  will  be  master  in  this  gaol !"  was  the  creed  of  Hawes. 
He  docked  Robinson's  supper  one-half,  ditto  his  breakfast 
next  day,  and  set  him  a  tremendous  task  of  crank.  Now  in 
gaol  a  day's  food  and  a  day's  crank  are  too  nicely  balanced 
to  admit  of  the  weights  being  tampered  with.  So  Robinson's 
demi-starvation  paved  the  way  for  further  punishment.  At 
one  o'clock  he  was  five  hundred  revolutions  short,  and  in- 
stead of  going  to  his  dinner,  he  was  tied  up  in  the  infernal 
machine.  Now  the  new  chaplain  came  three  times  into  the 
yard  that  day,  and  the  third  time,  about  four  o'clock,  he 
found  Robinson  pinned  to  the  wall,  jammed  in  the  waistcoat, 
and  griped  in  the  collar.  His  blood  ran  cold  at  sight  of  him, 
for  the  man  had  been  hours  in  the  pillory,  and  nature  was 
giving  way. 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"Refractory  at  crank." 

"I  saw  him  working  at  the  crank  when  I  came  here  last." 

"Hasn't  made  his  number  good,  though." 

"Humph !     You  have  the  governor's  own  orders  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

i6o 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"How  long  is  he  to  be  so?" 

'Till  fresh  orders." 

"I  will  see  the  effect  of  this  punishment  on  the  prisoner, 
and  note  it  down  for  my  report."  And  he  took  out  his  note- 
book, and  leaned  his  back  against  the  wall. 

The  simple  action  of  taking  out  a  note-book  gave  the  ope- 
rators a  certain  qualm  of  doubt.  Fry  whispered  Hodges  to 
go  and  tell  the  governor.  On  his  return,  Hodges  found  the 
parties  as  he  had  left  them,  except  Robinson — he  was  paler 
and  his  lips  turning  bluer. 

"Your  victim  is  fainting,"  said  the  chaplain  sternly. 

"Only  shamming,  sir,"  said  Fry.     "Bucket,  Hodges." 

The  bucket  was  brought,  and  the  contents  were  flung  over 
Robinson. 

The  chaplain  gave  a  cry  of  dismay.  The  turnkeys  both 
laughed  at  this. 

"You  see  he  was  only  shamming,  sir,"  said  Hodges,  "He 
is  come-to  the  moment  the  water  touched  him." 

"A  plain  proof  he  was  not  shamming.  A  bucket  of  water 
thrown  over  any  one  about  to  faint  would  always  bring  them 
to;  but  if  a  man  had  made  up  his  mind  to  sham,  he  could  do 
it  in  spite  of  water.  Of  course  you  will  take  him  down 
now  ?" 

"Not  till  fresh  orders." 

"On  your  peril  be  it  if  any  harm  befalls  this  prisoner — 
you  are  warned." 

At  this  juncture  Hawes  came  into  the  yard.  His  cheek 
was  flushed  and  his  eye  glittered.  He  expected  and  rather 
hoped  a  collision  with  his  reverence. 

"Well,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing,  sir ;  only  his  reverence  is  threatening  us." 

"What  is  he  threatening  you  for?" 

"Mr.  Hawes,  I  told  these  men  that  I  should  hold  them 
responsible  if  any  harm  came  to  the  prisoner  for  their  cruelty. 
I  now  tell  you  that  he  has  just  fainted  from  bodily  distress 
caused  by  this  infernal  engine,  and  I  hold  you,  Mr.  Hawes, 
responsible  for  this  man's  life  and  well-being,  which  are  here 
attacked,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  all  her  Majesty's  prisons, 
and  contrary  to  the  intention  of  all  punishment,  which  is  for 
the  culprit's  good,  not  for  his  injurv,  either  in  soul  or  body." 

"  i6i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"And  what  will  you  do?"  said  Hawes,  glaring  contemp- 
tuously at  the  turnkeys,  who  wore  rather  a  blank  look. 

"Mr.  Hawes,"  replied  the  other  gravely,  "I  have  spoken  to 
warn  you,  not  to  threaten  you." 

"What  I  do  is  done  with  the  consent  of  the  visiting  jus- 
tices.    They  are  my  masters,  and  no  one  else." 

"They  have  not  seen  a  prisoner  crucified." 

"Crucified  !     What  d'ye  mean  by  crucified  ?" 

"Don't  you  see  that  the  torture  before  our  eyes  is  cruci- 
fixion?" 

"No ;  I  don't.     No  nails  !" 

"Nails  were  not  always  used  in  crucifixion ;  sometimes 
cords.  Don't  deceive  yourself  with  a  name ;  nothing  mis- 
leads like  a  false  name.  This  punishment  is  falsely  called 
the  jacket — it  is  jacket,  collar,  straps  applied  with  cruelty. 
It  is  crucifixion  minus  nails,  but  plus  a  collar." 

"Whatever  it  is,  the  justices  have  seen  and  approved  it. 
Haven't  they.  Fry?" 

"That  they  have,  sir;  scores  of  times." 

"Then  may  Heaven  forgive  them  and  direct  me."  And 
the  chaplain  entered  the  cell  despondently,  and  bent  his  pity- 
ing eye  steadily  on  the  thief,  who  seemed  to  him  at  the  mo- 
ment a  better  companion  than  the  three  honest  but  cruel 
men. 

He  waited  there  very,  very  sorrowful  and  thoughtful  for 
more  than  half  an  hour.  Then  Hawes,  who  left  the  yard  as 
soon  as  he  had  conquered  his  opponent,  sent  in  Evans  with 
an  order  to  take  Robinson  to  his  dormitory. 

The  chaplain  saw  the  man  taken  down  from  the  wall,  and 
that  done,  went  hastily  to  his  own  house;  there,  the  contest 
being  over,  he  was  seized  with  a  violent  sickness  and  trem- 
bling. To  see  a  fellow-creature  suffer,  and  not  be  able  to 
relieve  him,  was  death  to  this  man.  He  was  game  to  the  last 
drop  of  his  blood,  so  long  as  there  was  any  good  to  be  done ; 
but,  action  ended,  a  reaction  came,  in  which  he  was  all  pity 
and  sorrow  and  distress,  because  of  a  fellow-creature's  dis- 
tress. No  one  that  saw  his  firmness  in  the  torture-cell  would 
have  guessed  how  weak  he  was  within,  and  how  stoutly  his 
great  heart  had  to  battle  against  a  sensitive  nature  and  nerves 
tuned  too  high. 

162 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

He  gave  half  an  hour  to  the  weakness  of  nature,  and  then 
he  was  all  duty  once  more. 

He  went  first  into  Robinson's  cell.  He  found  him  worse 
than  ever :  despair  as  well  as  hatred  gleamed  in  his  eye. 

"My  poor  fellow,  is  there  no  way  for  you  to  avoid  these 
dreadful  punishments?" 

No  answer. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  though,  that  Robinson  had  no  idea 
how  far  the  chaplain  had  carried  his  remonstrance  against 
his  torture;  that  remonstrance  had  been  uttered  privately  to 
the  turnkeys  and  the  governor.  Besides,  the  man  was  half- 
stupefied  when  the  chaplain  first  came  there.  And  now  he 
was  in  such  pain  and  despair.  He  was  like  the  genii  con- 
fined in  the  chest  and  thrown  into  the  water  by  Soliman. 
Had  this  good  friend  come  to  him  at  first  starting,  he  would 
have  throw^n  himself  into  his  arms ;  but  it  came  too  late  now : 
he  hated  all  mankind.  He  had  lost  all  belief  in  genuine 
kindness.     Like  Orlando — 

"He  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here." 

The  chaplain,  on  the  other  hand,  began  to  think  that  Rob- 
inson was  a  downright  brute,  and  one  on  whom  kindness 
was  and  would  be  wasted.  Still,  true  to  his  nature,  he  ad- 
mitted no  small  pique;  he  reasoned  gently  and  kindly  with 
him — very  kindly.  "My  poor  soul,"  said  he,  "have  you  so 
many  friends  in  this  hard  place  that  you  can  afford  to  repulse 
one  who  desires  to  be  your  friend,  and  to  do  you  good  ?" 

No  answer. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  will  not  let  me  comfort  you,  at  least 
you  cannot  prevent  my  praying  for  you,  for  you  are  on  the 
road  to  despair  and  will  take  no  help." 

So  then  this  good  creature  did  actually  kneel  upon  the  hard 
stones  of  the  cell  and  offer  a  prayer — a  very  short  but  earn- 
est one. 

"Oh,  God,  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open,  enlighten  me  that 
I  may  understand  this,  my  afflicted  brother's  heart,  and  learn 
how  to  do  him  good,  and  comfort  him  out  of  Thy  Word — 
Thy  grace  assisting  me." 

Robinson  looked  down  at  him  with  wild,  staring,  but  lack- 
lustre eyes  and  open  mouth.     He  rose  from  the  floor,  and 

163 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

casting  a  look  of  great  benignity  on  the  sullen  brute,  he  was 
about  to  go,  when  he  observed  that  Robinson  was  trembling 
in  a  very  peculiar  way. 

"You  are  ill,"  said  he  hastily,  and  took  a  step  towards 
him. 

At  this,  Robinson,  with  a  wild  and  furious  gesture,  waived 
him  to  the  door  and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall ;  then  this 
refined  gentleman  bowed  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say  you 
shall  be  master  of  this  apartment  and  dismiss  any  one  you  do 
not  like,  and  went  gently  away  with  a  little  sigh.  And  the 
last  that  he  saw  was  Robinson  trembling  with  averted  face 
and  eyes  bent  down. 

Outside  he  met  Evans,  who  said  to  him  half-bluntly,  half- 
respectfully,  "I  don't  like  to  see  you  going  into  that  cell,  sir; 
the  man  is  not  to  be  trusted.     He  is  very  strange." 

"What  do  you  mean?  do  you  fear  for  his  reason?" 

"Why  not,  sir?  We  have  sent  a  pretty  many  to  the  lu- 
natic asylum  since  I  was  a  warder  here." 

"Ah !" 

"And  some  have  broken  prison  a  shorter  way  than  that," 
said  the  man  very  gloomily. 

The  chaplain  groaned  and  looked  at  the  speaker  with  an 
expression  of  terror.     Evans  noticed  it  and  said  gravely — 

"You  should  not  have  come  to  such  a  place  as  this,  sir; 
you  are  not  fit  for  it." 

"Why  am  I  not  fit  for  it?" 

"Too  good  for  it,  sir." 

"You  talk  foolishly,  Mr.  Evans.  In  the  first  place,  'too 
good'  is  a  ludicrous  combination  of  language ;  in  the  next,  the 
worse  a  place  is  the  more  need  of  somebody  being  good  in  it 
to  make  it  better.  But  I  suppose  you  are  one  of  those  who 
think  that  evil  is  naturally  stronger  than  good.  Delusion 
springs  from  this,  that  the  wicked  are  in  earnest  and  the 
good  are  lukew^arm.  Good  is  stronger  than  evil.  A  single 
really  good  man  in  an  ill  place  is  like  a  little  yeast  in  a  gallon 
of  dough ;  it  can  leaven  the  mass.  If  St.  Paul,  or  even 
George  Whitfield,  had  been  in  Lot's  place  all  those  years, 
there  would  have  been  more  than  fifty  good  men  in  Sodom ; 
but  this  is  out  of  place.  I  want  you  to  give  me  the  benefit  of 
your  experience,   Evans.     When   I   went  to   Robinson   and 

164 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

spoke  kindly  to  him  he  trembled  all  over.  What  on  earth 
does  that  mean  ?" 

"Trembled,  did  he,  and  never  spoke?" 

"Yes!— Well?" 

"I'm  thinking,  sir!  I'm  thinking.  You  didn't  touch 
him?" 

"Touch  him,  no ;  what  should  I  touch  him  for  ?" 

"Well,  don't  do  it,  sir.  And  don't  go  near  him.  You 
have  had  an  escape,  you  have.  He  was  in  two  minds  about 
pitching  into  you." 

"You  think  it  was  rage !  Humph !  it  did  not  give  me  that 
impression. 

"Sir,  did  you  ever  go  to  pat  a  strange  dog?" 

"I  have  done  myself  that  honour." 

"Well,  if  he  wags  his  tail,  you  know  it  is  all  right ;  but  say 
he  puts  his  tail  between  his  legs,  what  will  he  do  if  you  pat 
him  ?" 

"Bite  me  :  cxpcrto  crede." 

"No;  if  you  are  ever  so  expert,  he  will  bite  you  or  try. 
Now,  putting  of  his  tail  between  his  legs,  that  passes  for  a 
sign  of  fear  in  a  dog,  all  one  as  trembling  does  in  a  man.  Do 
you  see  what  I  am  driving  at  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  had  better  leave  the  spiteful  brute  to  himself." 

"No ;  that  would  be  to  condemn  him  to  the  worst  com- 
panion he  can  have." 

"But  if  he  should  pitch  into  you,  sir?" 

"Then  he  will  pitch  into  a  man  twice  as  strong  as  himself, 
and  a  pupil  of  Bendigo.     Don't  be  silly,  Evans." 

SUNDAY 

Hodges. — Pity  you  wasn't  in  chapel,  Mr.  Fry. 
Fry. — Why  ? 

Hodges. — The  new  chaplain  ! 
Fry. — Well,  what  did  he  do? 

Hodges. — He  waked  'em  all  up,  I  can  tell  you.     Governor 
couldn't  get  a  wink  all  the  sermon. 
Fry. — What  did  he  tell  you? 
Hodges. — Told  us  he  loved  us. 
Fry. — Loved  who? 

165 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 


1 


Hodges. — All  of  us.  Governor,  turnkeys,  and  especially 
the  prisoners,  because  they  were  in  trouble.  "My  Master 
loves  you,  though  He  hates  your  sins,"  says  he;  and  "I  love 
every  mother's  son  of  you."  What  d'ye  think  of  that?  He 
loves  the  whole  biHng!     Told  'em  so,  however. 

Fry. — Loves  'em,  does  he  ?     Well,  that's  a  new  lay !    After 
all,  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,  you  know.     Haw !  haw ! 
Hodges. — Haw !  haw  ho ! 

This  same  Sunday  afternoon,  soon  after  service,  the  chap- 
lain came  to  Robinson's  cell.  Evans  unlocked  it,  looking 
rather  uneasy,  and  would  have  come  in  with  the  reverend 
gentleman ;  but  he  forbade  him,  and  walked  quickly  into  the 
cell,  as  Van  Amburgh  goes  among  his  leopards  and  panthers. 
He  had  in  his  hand  a  little  box. 

"I  have   brought  you  some  ointment — some  nice  cooling 
ointment,"   said   he,   "to  rub  on   your   neck.     I   saw   it   was 
frayed  by  that  collar." 
(Pause).     No  answer. 
"Will  you  let  me  see  you  use  it?" 
No  answer. 
"Come!" 
No  answer. 

The  chaplain  took  the  box  ofif  the  table,  opened  it,  and 
went  up  to  Robinson,  and  began  quietly  to  apply  some  of  the 
grateful  soothing  ointment  to  his  frayed  throat.  The  man 
trembled  all  over.  The  chaplain  kept  his  eye  calm  but  firm 
upon  him,  as  on  a  dog  of  doubtful  temper.  Robinson  put 
up  his  hand  in  a  feeble  sort  of  way  to  prevent  the  other  from 
doing  him  good.  His  reverence  took  the  said  hand  in  a 
quiet  but  powerful  grasp,  and  applied  the  ointment  all  the 
same.  Robinson  said  nothing,  but  he  was  seized  with  this 
extraordinary  trembling. 

"Good-bye,"  said  his  reverence  kindly.  "I  leave  you  the 
box;  and  see,  here  are  some  tracts  I  have  selected  for  you. 
They  are  not  dull ;  there  are  stories  in  them,  and  the  dialogue 
is  pretty  good.  It  is  nearer  nature  than  you  will  find  it  in 
works  of  greater  pretension.  Here  a  carpenter  talks  some- 
thing like  a  carpenter,  and  a  footman  something  like  a  foot- 
man, and  a  factory-girl  something  like  a  girl  employed  in  a 
factory.     They  don't  all  talk  book — you  will  be  able  to  read 

1 66 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

them.  Begin  with  this  one — 'The  Wages  of  Sin  are  Death.' 
Good-bye!"  And  with  these  words  and  a  kind  smile  he  left 
the  cell. 

"From  the  chaplain,  sir,"  said  Evans,  to  the  governor, 
touching  his  hat. 

"Dear  Sir^ — Will  you  be  good  enough  to  send  me  by  the 
bearer  a  copy  of  the  prison-rules,  especially  those  that  treat 
of  the  punishments  to  be  inflicted  on  prisoners. — I  am, 
yours,  &c." 

Hawes  had  no  sooner  read  this  innocent-looking  missive, 
than  he  burst  out  into  a  tide  of  execrations ;  he  concluded  by 
saying,  "Tell  him  I  have  not  got  a  spare  copy ;  Mr.  Jones 
will  give  him  his." 

This  answer  disappointed  the  chaplain  sadly;  for  Mr.  Jones 
had  left  the  town,  and  was  not  expected  to  return  for  some 
days.  The  hostile  spirit  of  the  governor  was  evident  in  this 
reply.  The  chaplain  felt  he  was  at  war,  and  his  was  an 
energetic  but  peace-loving  nature.  He  paced  the  corridor, 
looking  both  thoughtful  and  sad.  The  rough  Evans  eyed 
him  with  interest,  and  he  also  fell  into  meditation  and 
scratched  his  head,  invariable  concomitant  of  thought  with 
Evans. 

It  was  towards  evening,  and  his  reverence  still  paced  the 
corridor,  downhearted  at  opposition  and  wickedness,  but  not 
without  hope,  and  full  of  lovely  and  charitable  wishes  for  all 
his  flock,  when  the  melancholy  Fry  suddenly  came  out  of  a 
prisoner's  cell  radiant  with  joy. 

"What  is  amiss?"  asked  the  chaplain. 

"This  is  the  matter,"  said  Fry,  and  he  showed  him  a  deuce 
of  clubs,  a  five  of  hearts,  and  an  ace  of  diamonds,  and  so  on ; 
two  or  three  cards  of  each  suit.  "A  prisoner  has  been  mak- 
ing these  out  of  his  tracts." 

"How  could  he  do  that  ?" 

"Look  here,  sir.  He  has  kept  a  little  of  his  gruel  till  it 
turned  to  paste,  and  then  he  has  pasted  three  or  four  leaves 
of  the  tracts  together  and  dried  them,  and  then  cut  them  into 
cards." 

"But  the  colours — how  could  he  get  them  ?" 

167 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"That  is  what  beats  me  altogether ;  but  some  of  these 
prisoners  know  more  than  the  bench  of  bishops." 

"More  evil,  I  conclude  you  mean  ?" 

"More  of  all  sorts,  sir.  However  I  am  taking  them  to  the 
governor,  and  he  will  fathom  it  if  any  one  can." 

"Leave  one  red  card  and  one  black  with  me." 

While  Fry  was  gone  the  chaplain  examined  the  cards  with 
curiosity  and  that  admiration  of  inventive  resource  which  a 
superior  mind  cannot  help  feeling.  There  they  were,  a  fine 
red  deuce  of  hearts  and  a  fine  black  four  of  spades — cards 
made  without  pasteboard  and  painted  without  paint.  But 
how?  that  was  the  question.  The  chaplain  entered  upon 
this  question  with  his  usual  zeal ;  but  happening  to  reverse 
one  of  the  cards^  it  was  his  fate  to  see  on  the  back  of  it— 

"The  Wages  of  Sin  are  Death. 
A  Tract." 

He    reddened   at   the   sight.     Here   was   an   affront !     "The 
sulky  brute  could  amuse  himself  cutting  up  my  tracts !" 

Presently  the  governor  came  up  with  his  satellites. 

"Take  No.  19  out  of  his  cell  for  punishment." 

At  this  word  the  chaplain's  short-lived  anger  began  to 
cool.     They  brought  Robinson  out. 

"So  you  have  been  at  it  again."  cried  the  governor  in 
threatening  terms.  "Now  you  will  tell  me  where  you  got 
the  paint  to  make  these  beauties  with?" 

No  answer. 

"Do  you  hear,  ye  sulky  brute?" 

No  answer,  but  a  glittering  eye  bent  on  Hawes. 

"Put  him  in  the  jacket,"  cried  Hawes  with  an  oath. 

Hodges  and  Fry  laid  each  a  hand  upon  the  man's  shoulder 
and  walked  him  off. 

"Stop!"  cried  Hawes  suddenly;  "his  reverence  is  here,  and 
he  is  not  partial  to  the  jacket." 

The  chaplain  was  innocent  enough  to  make  a  graceful 
grateful  bow  to  Hawes. 

"Give  him  the  dark  cell  for  twenty-four  hours,"  continued 
Hawes  with  a  malicious  grin. 

The  thief  gave  a  cry  of  dismay,  and  shook  himself  clear  of 
the  turnkeys. 

168 


I 


•IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Anything  but  that,"  cried  he  with  trembling  voice. 

"Oh,  you  have  found  your  tongue,  have  you?" 

"Any  punishment  but  that,"  ahnost  shrieked  the  despairing 
man.  "Leave  me  my  reason.  You  have  robbed  me  of 
everything  else.     For  pity's  sake,  leave  me  my  reason !" 

The  governor  made  a  signal  to  the  turnkeys ;  they  stepped 
towards  the  thief.  The  thief  sprung  out  of  their  way,  his 
eye  rolling  wildly  as  if  in  search  of  escape.  Seeing  this,  the 
two  turnkeys  darted  at  him,  like  bulldogs,  one  on  each  side. 
This  time,  instead  of  flying,  the  thief  was  observed  to  move 
his  body  in  a  springy  wa}-  to  meet  them ;  with  two  motions 
rapid  as  light  and  almost  contemporaneous,  he  caught 
Hodges  between  the  eyes  with  his  fist,  and  drove  his  head 
like  a  battering-ram  into  Fry's  belly.  Smack !  ooff !  and  the 
two  powerful  men  went  down  like  ninepins. 

In  a  moment  all  the  warders  within  sight  or  hearing  came 
buzzing  round,  and  Hodges  and  Fry  got  up,  the  latter  bleed- 
ing; both  staring  confusedly.  Seeing  himself  hemmed  in, 
Robinson  offered  no  further  resistance.  He  plumped  himself 
down  on  the  ground  and  there  sat,  and  they  had  to  take  him 
up  and  carry  him  to  the  dark  cells.  But  as  they  were  drag- 
ging him  along  by  the  shoulders,  he  caught  sight  of  the  gov- 
ernor and  chaplain  looking  down  at  him  over  the  rails  of 
Corridor  B.  At  sight  of  the  latter  the  thief  wrenched  him- 
self free  from  his  attendants,  and  screamed  to  him — 

"Do  you  see  this,  you  in  the  black  coat?  You  that  told  us 
the  other  day  you  loved  us.  and  now  stand  coolly  there  and 
see  me  taken  to  the  black-hole  to  be  got  ready  for  the  mad- 
house?    D'ye  hear?" 

"I  hear  you,"  replied  the  chaplain  gravely  and  gently. 

"You  called  us  your  brothers  you." 

"I  did,  and  do." 

"Well  then,  here  is  one  of  your  brothers  being  taken  to  hell 
before  your  eyes.  I  go  there  a  man,  but  I  shall  come  out  a 
beast,  and  that  cowardly  murderer  by  your  side  knows  it, 
and  you  have  not  a  word  to  say.  That  is  all  a  poor  fellow 
gets  by  being  your  brother.  My  curse  on  you  all !  butchers 
and  hypocrites !" 

"Give  him  twelve  hours  more  for  that,"  roared   Hawes. 

" his  eyes,  I'll  break  him.  him," 

169 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Ah !"  yelled  the  thief,  "you  curse  me,  do  you  ?  d'ye  hear 

that?     The  son  of  a  appeals  to  Heaven  against  me! 

What?  does  this  lump  of  dirt  believe  there  is  a  God?  Then 
there  must  be  one."  Then  suddenly  flinging  himself  on  his 
knees,  he  cried,  "If  there  is  a  God  who  pities  them  that 
suffer,  I  cry  to  Him  on  my  knees  to  torture  you  as  you  tor- 
ture us.  May  your  name  be  shame,  may  your  life  be  pain, 
and  your  death  loathsome !  May  your  skin  rot  from  your 
flesh,  your  flesh  from  your  bones,  your  bones  from  your 
body,  and  your  soul  split  for  ever  on  the  rock  of  damna- 
tion !" 

"Take  him  away,"  yelled  Hawes,  white  as  a  sheet. 

They  tore  him  away  by  force,  still  threatening  his  persecu- 
tor with  outstretched  hand  and  raging  voice  and  blazing  eyes, 
and  flung  him  into  the  dark  dungeon. 

"Cool  yourself  there,  ye  varmint,"  said  Fry  spitefully. 
Even  his  flesh  crept  at  the  man's  blasphemies. 

Meantime,  the  chaplain  had  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  trembled  like  a  woman  at  the  frightful  blasphemies  and 
passions  of  these  two  sinners. 

"I'll  make  this  place  hell  to  him.  He  shan't  need  to  go 
elsewhere,"  muttered  Hawes  aloud  between  his  clenched 
teeth. 

The  chaplain  groaned. 

The  governor  heard  him  and  turned  on  him :  "Well,  par- 
son, you  see  he  doesn't  thank  you  for  interfering  between 
him  and  me.  He  would  rather  have  had  an  hour  or  two  of 
the  jacket  and  have  done  with  it." 

The  chaplain  sighed.  He  felt  weighed  down  in  spirit  by 
the  wickedness  both  of  Hawes  and  of  Robinson.  He  saw 
it  was  in  vain  at  that  moment  to  try  to  soften  the  former  in 
favour  of  the  latter.  He  moved  slowly  away.  Hawes  eyed 
him  sneeringly. 

"He  is  down  upon  his  luck,"  thought  Hawes ;  "his  own 
fault  for  interfering  with  me.  I  liked  the  man  well  enough, 
and  showed  it,  if  he  hadn't  been  a  fool  and  put  his  nose  into 
my  business." 

Half-an-hour  had  scarce  elapsed  when  the  chaplain  came 
back. 

"Mr.  Hawes,  I  come  to  you  as  a  petitioner." 

170 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"Indeed !"  said  Hawes,  with  a  supercilious  sneer  very  hard 
to  bear. 

The  other  would  not  notice  it.  "Pray  do  not  think  I  side 
with  a  refractory  prisoner  if  I  beg  you,  not  to  countermand, 
but  to  modify  Robinson's  punishment." 

"What  for?" 

"Because  he  cannot  bear  so  many  hours  of  the  dark  cell." 

"Nonsense,  sir." 

"Is  it  too  much  to  ask  that  you  will  give  him  six  hours  a 
day  for  four  days,  instead  of  twenty-four  at  a  stretch?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  is  too  much  for  you  to  ask.  I 
should  say  by  what  I  see  of  you  that  nothing  is ;  but  it  is  too 
much  for  me  to  grant.  The  man  has  earned  punishment ;  he 
has  got  it,  and  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all." 

"Yes,  I  have  the  care  of  his  soul,  and  how  can  I  do  his 
soul  good  if  he  loses  his  reason  ?" 

"Stuff!  his  reason's  safe  enough,  what  little  he  has." 

"Do  not  say  stuff !  Do  not  be  rash  where  the  stake  is  so 
great,  or  confident  where  you  have  no  knowledge.  You  have 
never  been  in  the  dark  cell,  Mr.  Hawes ;  I  have ;  and  I  as- 
sure you  it  tried  my  nerves  to  the  uttermost.  I  had  many 
advantages  over  this  poor  man.  I  went  in  of  my  own  accord, 
animated  by  a  desire  of  knowledge,  supported  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  right,  my  memory  enriched  by  the  reading  of 
five-and-twenty  years,  on  which  I  could  draw  in  the  absence 
of  external  objects;  yet  so  dreadful  was  the  place  that,  had  I 
not  been  fortified  by  communion  with  my  omnipresent  God, 
I  do  think  my  reason  would  have  suffered  in  that  thick  dark- 
ness and  solitude.  I  repeated  thousands  of  lines  of  Homer, 
Virgil,  and  the  Greek  dramatists ;  then  I  came  to  Shakes- 
peare, Corneille,  Racine,  and  Victor  Hugo ;  then  I  tried  to 
think  of  a  text  and  compose  a  sermon ;  but  the  minutes 
seemed  hours,  leaden  hours,  and  they  weighed  my  head 
down  and  my  heart  down,  and  so  did  the  Egyptian  darkness, 
till  I  sought  refuge  in  prayer,  and  there  I  found  it." 

"You  pulled  through  it,  and  so  will  he ;  and  now  I  think 
of  it,  it  is  too  slight  a  punishment  to  give  a  refractory  blas- 
pheming villain  no  worse  than  a  pious  gentleman  took  on 
him  for  sport,"  sneered  Hawes.  "You  heard  his  language  to 
me,  the  blaspheming  dog?" 

171 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"I  did !  I  did !  and  therefore  pray  you  to  pity  his  sinful 
soul,  exasperated  by  the  severities  he  has  already  under- 
gone. Oh,  sir !  the  wicked  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  the 
good;  and  the  good  can  endure  trials  that  wreck  the  wicked. 
I  would  rather  see  a  righteous  man  thrown  into  that  dismal 
dungeon  than  this  poor  blaspheming  sinner." 

"The  deuce  you  would !" 

"For  the  righteous  man  has  a  strong  tower  that  the  sinner 
lacks.  He  is  fit  to  battle  with  solitude  and  fearful  darkness ; 
an  unseen  light  shines  upon  his  soul,  an  unseen  hand  sus- 
tains him.  The  darkness  is  no  darkness  to  him,  for  the  Sun 
of  righteousness  is  nigh.  In  the  deep  solitude  he  is  not 
alone,  for  good  angels  whisper  by  his  side.  'Yea,  though  he 
walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  yet  shall 
he  fear  no  evil,  for  God  is  with  him ;  His  rod  and  His  staff 
they  comfort  him.'  The  wicked  have  not  this  comfort :  to 
them  darkness  and  solitude  must  be  too  horrible.  Satan — 
not  God — is  their  companion.  The  ghosts  of  their  past 
crimes  rise  and  swell  the  present  horror.  Remorse  and  de- 
spair are  added  to  the  double  gloom  of  solitude  and  darkness. 
You  don't  know  what  you  are  doing  when  you  shut  up  a 
poor  lost  sinner  of  excitable  temperament  in  that  dreadful 
hole.  It  is  a  wild  experiment  on  a  human  frame.  Pray  be 
advised,  pray  be  warned,  pray  let  your  heart  be  softened, 
and  punish  the  man  as  he  deserves — but  do  not  destroy  him ! 
oh,  do  not !  do  not  destroy  him !" 

Up  to  this  moment  Hawes  had  worn  a  quiet  malicious 
grin.  At  last  his  rage  broke  through  this  veil.  He  turned 
round  black  as  night  upon  the  chaplain,  who  was  bending 
towards  him  in  earnest,  gasping,  yet  sweet  and  gentle  suppli- 
cation. 

"The  vagabond  insulted  me  before  all  my  servants,  and  that 
is  why  you  take  his  part.  He  would  send  me  to  hell  if  he  had 
the  upper  hand,  I've  got  the  upper  hand,  and  so  he  shall  taste 
it  instead  of  me,  till  he  goes  down  on  his  marrowbones  to  me 
with  my  foot  on  his  viper's  tongue, him !" 

"Oh,  do  not  curse  him,  above  all  now  that  he  is  in  trouble 
and  defenceless." 

"Let  me  alone,  sir,  and  I'll  let  you,"  retorted  Hawes  sav- 
agely.  "If  I  curse  him,  you  can  pray  for  him.    I  don't  hinder 

172 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

you.  Good  night !"  and  Mr.  Hawes  turned  his  back  very 
rudely. 

*T  will  pray  for  him — and  for  you !" 

So  then  the  chaplain  retired  sorrowfully  to  his  private 
room,  and  here,  sustained  no  longer  by  action,  his  high-tuned 
nature  gave  way.  A  cold  languor  came  over  him.  He  locked 
the  door  that  no  one  might  see  his  weakness,  and  then  suc- 
cumbing to  nature,  he  fell  first  into  a  sickness  and  then  into 
a  trembling,  and  more  than  once  hysterical  tears  gushed  from 
his  eyes  in  the  temporary  prostration  of  his  spirit  and  his 
powers. 

Such  are  the  great.  Men  know  their  feats,  but  not  their 
struggles. 

Meantime  Robinson  lay  in  the  dark  cell  with  a  morsel  of 
bread  and  water,  and  no  bed  or  chair,  that  hunger  and  un- 
rest might  co-operate  with  darkness  and  solitude  to  his  hurt. 
To  this  horrid  abode  it  is  now  our  fate  to  follow  a  thief  and 
a  blasphemer.  We  must  pass  his  gloomy  portal,  over  which 
might  have  been  inscribed  what  Dante  has  written  over  the 
gates  of  hell — 

"all  ye  who  enter  here — ABANDON   HOPE  !  !" 

At  six  o'clock  Robinson  was  thrust  in,  and  his  pittance  of 
bread  and  water  with  him ;  the  door,  which  fitted  like  mosaic, 
was  closed.  The  steps  retreated,  carrying  away  hope  and 
human  kind ;  there  was  silence,  and  the  man  shivered  in  the 
thick  black  air  that  seemed  a  fluid,  not  an  atmosphere. 

When  the  door  closed  his  heart  was  yet  beating  with 
rage  and  wild  desire  of  vengeance.  He  nursed  this  rage  as 
long  as  he  could.,  but  the  thick  darkness  soon  cooled  him 
and  cowed  him.  He  sat  dow-n  upon  the  floor,  he  ate  his  pit- 
tance very  slowly,  two  mouthfuls  a  minute.  "I  will  be  an 
hour  eating  it,"  said  he,  "and  then  an  hour  will  have  passed." 
He  thought  he  was  an  hour  eating  it,  but  in  reality  he  was 
scarce  twenty  minutes.  The  blackness  seemed  to  smother 
him.  'T  will  shut  it  out,"  said  he.  He  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief and  wrapped  his  head  in  it.  "What  a  weak  fool  I 
am,"  cried  he ;  "when  we  are  asleep  it  does  not  matter  to  us 
light  or  dark;  I  will  go  to  sleep."    He  lay  down,  his  head 

173 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

still  wrapped  up,  and  tried  to  sleep.    So  passed  the  first  hour. 

Second  hour. — He  rose  from  the  stone  floor  after  a  vain 
attempt  to  sleep.  "Oh  no !"  cried  he,  "sleep  is  for  those 
who  are  well  and  happy,  and  who  could  enjoy  themselves  as 
well  awake ;  it  won't  come  to  me  to  save  a  poor  wretch  from 
despair.  I  must  tire  myself,  and  I  am  too  cold  to  sleep :  here 
goes  for  a  warm."  He  groped  to  the  wall,  and,  keeping  his 
hand  on  it,  went  round  and  round  like  a  caged  tiger. 
"Hawes  hopes  to  drive  me  to  Bedlam.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can 
for  myself  to  spite  him.  May  he  lie  in  a  place  narrower  than 
this,  and  almost  as  dark,  with  his  jaw  down  and  his  toes  up 
before  the  year  is  out,  curse  him !"  But  the  poor  wretch's 
curses  quavered  away  into  sobs  and  tears.  "Oh ;  what  have 
I  done  to  be  used  so  as  I  am  here?  They  drive  me  to  de- 
spair, then  drive  me  to  hell  for  despairing.  Patience,  or  I 
shall  go  mad.  Patience !  Patience !  This  hour  was  passed 
cursing  and  weeping,  and  groping  for  warmth,  and  fatigue 
• — in  vain. 

Third  hour. — The  man  sat  rocking  himself  to  and  fro, 
trying  not  to  think  of  anything:  for  now  the  past  too  was 
coming  with  all  its  weight  upon  him ;  every  minute  he  started 
up  as  if  an  adder  had  stung  him ;  crawled  about  his  cell 
seeking  refuge  in  motion,  and  finding  none;  then  he  threw 
himself  on  the  floor  and  struggled  for  sleep.  Sleep  would 
not  come  so  sought ;  and  now  his  spirits  were  quite  cowed. 
He  would  cringe  to  Hawes;  he  would  lick  the  dust  at  his 
feet  to  get  out  of  this  horrible  place ;  who  could  he  get  to  go 
and  tell  the  governor  he  was  penitent.  He  listened  at  the 
door ;  he  rapped ;  no  one  came.  He  put  his  ear  to  the 
ground  and  listened ;  no  sound — blackness,  silence,  solitude. 
"They  have  left  me  here  to  die,"  shrieked  the  despairing 
man,  and  he  flung  himself  on  the  floor,  and  writhed  upon  the 
hard  stone.  "It  must  be  morning,  and  no  one  comes  near 
me :  this  is  my  tomb !"  Fear  came  upon  him  and  trembling, 
and  a  cold  sweat  bedewed  his  limbs;  and  once  more  the 
past  rushed  over  him  with  tenfold  force — days  of  happiness 
and  comparative  innocence  now  forfeited  for  ever.  His 
whole  life  whirled  round  before  his  eyes  in  a  panorama, 
scene  dissolving  into  scene  with  inconceivable  rapidity.  Thus 
passed  more  than  two  hours ;  and  now  remorse  and  mem- 

174 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ory  concentrated  themselves  on  one  dark  spot  in  this  man's 
history.  "She  is  in  the  tomb,"  cried  he,  "and  all  through 
me,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here.  This  is  my  grave.  Do 
you  see  me,  Mary? — she  is  here.  The  spirits  of  the  dead 
can  go  anywhere."  Then  he  trembled  and  cried  for  help. 
Oh,  for  a  human  voice  or  a  human  footstep ! — none.  His 
nerves  and  senses  were  now  shaken.  He  cried  aloud  most 
piteously  for  help.  "Mr.  Fry,  Mr.  Hodges  ;  help  !  help !  help  ! 
The  cell  is  full  of  the  dead,  and  devils  are  buzzing  round 
me  waiting  to  carry  me  away — they  won't  wait  much  long- 
er." He  fancied  something  supernatural  passed  him  like  a 
wind ;  he  struck  wildly  at  it.  He  flung  himself  madly  against 
the  door  to  escape  it ;  he  fell  back  bruised  and  bleeding,  and 
lay  a  while  in  stupor. 

Sixth  hour. — Robinson  was  going  mad.  The  blackness 
and  solitude  and  silence  and  remorse  and  despair  were  more 
than  his  excitable  nature  could  bear  any  longer.  He  prayed 
Hawes  to  come  and  abuse  him.  He  prayed  Fry  to  bring  the 
jacket  to  him.  "Let  me  but  see  a  man,  or  hear  a  man !"  He 
screamed,  and  cursed,  and  prayed,  and  dashed  himself  on  the 
ground,  and  ran  round  the  cell  wounding  his  hands  and  his 
face.  Suddenly  he  turned  deadly  calm.  He  saw  he  was 
going  mad — better  die  than  so — "I  shall  be  a  beast  soon — I 
will  die  a  man."  He  tore  down  his  collar — he  had  on  cotton 
stockings,  he  took  one  off — he  tied  it  in  a  loose  knot  round 
his  naked  throat — he  took  a  firm  hold  with  each  hand. 

And  now  he  was  quiet,  and  sorrowed  calmly.  A  man  to 
die  in  the  prime  of  Hfe  for  want  of  a  little  light  and  a  word 
from  a  human  creature  to  keep  him  from  madness. 

Then,  as  the  thought  returned,  clenching  his  teeth,  he 
gathered  the  ends  of  the  stocking  and  prepared  with  one 
fierce  pull  to  save  his  shaken  reason  and  end  his  miserable 
days.  Now  at  this  awful  moment,  while  his  hands  gripped 
convulsively  the  means  of  death,  a  quiet  tap  on  the  outside 
of  the  cell  door  suddenly  ran  through  the  dead  stillness,  and 
a  moment  after  a  human  word  forced  its  way  into  the  cave 
of  madness  and  death — 

"Brother  !" 

When  this  strange  word  pierced  the  thick  door,  and  came 
into  the  hell-cave  feeble  as  though  wafted  over  water  from 

175^ 


"IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

a  distance,  yet  distinct  as  a  bell  and  bright  as  a  sunbeam, 
Robinson  started,  and  quaked  with  fear  and  doubt.  Did  it 
come  from  the  grave,  that  unearthly  tone  and  word? 

Still  holding  the  end  of  the  stocking,  he  cried  out  wildly 
in  a  loud  but  quavering  voice — 

"Who — o — o — calls  Thomas  Sinclair  'brother'?"    The  dis- 
tant voice  rang  back — 

"Francis  Eden !" 

"Ah ! — where  are  you,  Francis  Eden  ?" 

"Here!  within  a  hand's-breadth  of  you;"  and  Mr.  Eden 
struck  the  door.     "Here  !" 

"There !  are  you  there  ?"  and  Robinson  struck  the  door 
on  his  side. 

"Yes,  here!  " 

"Ha !  don't  go  away,  pray  don't  go  away !" 

"I    don't    mean   to ; — take   courage — calm   your    fears — a 
brother  is  close  by  you !" 

"A  brother ! — again  !  now  I  know  who  it  must  be,  but  there 
is  no  telling  voices  here." 

"What  were  you  doing?" 

"What  was  I  doing  ?     Oh !  don't  ask  me — I  was  going 
mad, — where  are  you?" 

"Here!"  (rap). 

"And  I  am  here  close  opposite;  you  won't  go  away  yet 
awhile?" 

"Not  till   you  bid  me.     Compose  yourself — do  you  hear 
me? — calm  yourself,  compose  yourself." 

"I  will  try,  sir! — thank  you,  sir — I  will  try.    What  o'clock 
is  it?" 

"Half-past  twelve." 

"Night  or  day?" 

"Night." 

"Friday  night  or  Saturday?" 

"Thursday." 

"How  came  you  to  be  in  the  prison  at  this  hour?" 

"I  was  anxious  about  you." 

"You  were  what  ?" 

"Fearful  about  you." 

"What !  did  you  give  up  your  sleep  only  to  see  after  me  ?" 

"Are  you  not  glad  I  came?" 

176 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Is  a  shipwrecked  sailor  glad  when  a  rope  is  flung  him? 
I  hold  on  to  life  and  reason  by  you !" 

"Is  not  this  better  than  sleeping? — Did  you  speak?" 

"No !  I  am  thinking !  I  am  trying  to  make  you  out. 
Were  you  ever  a  p (hum)  ?" 

"Was  I  ever  what? — the  door  is  so  thick  !" 

"Oh,  nothing,  sir;  you  seem  to  know  what  a  poor  fellow 
suffers  in  the  dark  cell." 

"I  have  been  in  it !" 

"Whee-ugh-wheet ! — what  a  shame !  What  did  they  put 
you  in  for?" 

"They  didn't  put  me  in — I  went  in." 

"The  devil  you  did !"  muttered  the  immured. 

"What?  speak  out." 

"Nothing,  your  reverence,"  bawled  Robinson.  "Why  did 
you  go  into  such  a  cur — into  such  a  hole?" 

"It  was  my  duty  to  know  what  a  fellow-creature  suffers 
there,  lest,  through  inexperience,  I  might  be  cruel.  Igno- 
rance is  the  mother  of  cruelty  !" 

"I  hear  you,  sir." 

"And  cruelty  is  a  fearful  crime  in  His  eyes  whose  servant 
I  am." 

"I  am  thinking,  sir ;  I  am  putting  two  or  three  things 
together — I  see " 

"Speak  more  slowly  and  articulately." 

"I  will ;  I  see  what  you  are  now — you  are  a  Christian." 

"I  hope  so!" 

"I  might  have  guessed  as  much,  and  I  did  suspect  it;  but 
I  couldn't  know,  I  had  nothing  to  go  by.  I  never  fell  in 
with  a  Christian  before." 

"Where  did  you  go  to  look  for  them?"  asked  Mr.  Eden, 
his  mouth  twitching. 

"I  have  been  in  many  countries,  and  my  eyes  open ;  and 
I've  heard  and  read  of  Christians,  and  I've  met  hypocrites : 
but  never  met  a  Hving  Christian  till  to-night;"  then,  after 
a  pause,  "Sir,  I  want  to  apologise  to  you !" 

"What  for?" 

"For  my  ignorant  and  ungrateful  conduct  to  you  in  my 
cell." 

"Let  bygones  be  bvgones !" 

1/7 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD" 

"Could  you  forgive  me,  sir?" 

"You  punished  yourself,  not  me;  I  forgive  you." 

"Thank  you." 

Robinson  was  silent. 

After  a  pause,  Mr.  Eden  tapped. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"I  am  thinking  over  your  goodness  to  me." 

"Are  you  better  now?" 

"That  I  am.  The  place  was  a  tomb ;  since  yovi  came  it  is 
only  a  closet.  I  can't  see  your  face — I  feel  it,  though ;  and 
your  voice  is  music  to  me.  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me, 
sir?" 

"I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you ;  but  this  is  not  the 
time.    I  want  you  to  sleep." 

"Why,  sir?" 

"Sleep  is  the  balm  of  mind  and  body ;  you  need  sleep." 

"And  you,  sir?" 

"I  shall  sit  here." 

"You  will  take  your  death  of  cold." 

"No,  I  have  my  greatcoat." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

Robinson  tapped.     "Sir,  grant  me  a  favour." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Go  home  to  your  bed." 

"What,  leave  vou?" 

"Yes." 

"Shall  you  not  miss  me?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but  you  must  go.  The  words  you  have  spoken 
will  stay  with  me  while  you  are  gone." 

"I  shall  stay." 

"No,  sir,  no!     I  can't  bear  it — it  isn't  fair!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It  isn't  fair  that  a  gentleman  like  you  should  be  kept 
shivering  at  an  unfortunate  man's  door  like  me.  I  am  not 
quite  good  for  nothing,  sir,  and  this  will  disgrace  me  in  my 
own  eyes." 

"I  am  on  the  best  side  of  the  door ;  don't  trouble  your  head 
about  me." 

"I  shouldn't,  sir,  if  you  had  not  about  me — but  kindness 
begets  kindness ; — go  to  your  comfortable  bed." 

178 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Mr,  Eden  hesitated. 

"You  will  make  me  more  unhappy  than  I  am,  if  you  stay 
here  in  the  cold." 

Now  at  the  beginning  of  this  argument  Mr.  Eden  was  de- 
termined not  to  go ;  but  on  reflection  he  made  up  his  mind  to, 
for  this  reason :  "This,"  said  he  to  himself,  "is  an  act  of  un- 
common virtue  and  self-denial  in  this  poor  fellow.  I  must 
not  baulk  it,  for  it  will  be  good  for  his  soul ;  it  is  a  step  on  the 
right  road.  This  good,  and  I  might  say  noble,  act  is  a  foun- 
dation-stone on  which  I  ought  to  try  and  build  an  honest  man 
and  a  Christian." 

"Well,  then,  as  you  are  so  considerate,  I  will  go." 

"Thank  you." 

"Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  before  I  go?" 

"No,  sir ;  you  have  done  all  a  man  can ;  yes,  you  can  do 
something — you  spoke  a  word  to  me  when  you  came ;  it  is  a 
word  I  am  not  worthy  of,  but  still  if  you  could  leave  me 
that  word  it  would  be  a  companion  for  me." 

"Brother !" 

"Thank  you." 

When  he  heard  Mr.  Eden's  steps  grow  fainter  and  fainter. 
and  at  last  inaudible,  Robinson  groaned ;  the  darkness  turned 
blacker,  and  the  solitude  more  desolate  than  ever. 

Mr.  Eden  paced  the  corridors  in  meditation.  "It  is  never 
too  late  to  mend !"  he  said.  "This  man  seemed  an  unredeem- 
able brute :  yet  his  heart  was  to  be  touched  by  persevering 
kindness ;  and  once  touched,  how  much  of  goodness  left  in 
his  fallen  nature — genuine  gratitude,  and  even  the  embers 
of  self-respect.  T  hate  myself  for  my  conduct  in  the  cell ; 
it  would  disgrace  me  in  my  own  eyes  if  I  let  you  shiver  at 
my  door.'  Poor  fellow,  my  heart  yearns  towards  him  for 
that.  'Go,  or  you  will  make  me  more  unhappy.'  Why  that  was 
real  delicacy.  I  must  not  let  him  suffer  for  it.  In  an  hour 
I  will  go  back  to  him.  If  he  is  asleep,  well  and  good ;  if  not, 
there  I  stay  till  morning." 

He  went  to  his  room  and  worked ;  the  hour  soon  glided  by 
to  him,  not  so  to  the  poor  prisoner.  At  two  in  the  morning 
Mr.  Eden  came  softly  back  to  the  dark  cell  to  see  whether 
Robinson  was  asleep.  He  scratched  the  door  with  a  key.  A 
loud  unsteady  voice  cried  out.  "What  is  that  ?" 

179 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

"It  is  I,  brother." 

"Why  are  you  not  in  your  bed  ?" 

"I  couldn't  sleep  for  anxiety.  Come,  chat  with  me  till  you 
feel  sleepy.     How  did  you  colour  those  cards?" 

"I  found  a  coal  and  a  bit  of  brick  in  the  yard.  I  pounded 
them  and  mixed  them  with  water,  and  laid  them  on  with 
a  brush  I  had  made  and  hid." 

"Very  ingenious  !    Are  you  cold  ?" 

"No." 

"Because  your  voice  trembles." 

"Does  it?" 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"No !  But  I  remember  you  used  to  tremble  when  I  spoke 
to  you  in  the  cell.  Why  was  that?  Have  your  nerves  been 
shaken  by  ill-usage,  my  poor  fellow?" 

"Oh,  no !  it  is  not  that." 

"Tell  me,  then!" 

"Oh,  sir !  you  know  all  a  poor  fellow  feels.  You  can  guess 
what  made  me  tremble,  and  makes  me  tremble  now,  like  an 
aspen  I  do." 

"No,  indeed!  pray  tell  me.    Are  we  not  friends?" 

"The  best  ever  I  had,  or  ever  shall." 

"Then  tell  me." 

"I'll  try ;  but  it  is  a  long  story,  and  the  door  is  so 
thick." 

"Ah !  but  I  hear  you  better  now ;  I  have  got  used  to  your 
voice." 

"Well,  sir ;  but  I've  no  words  to  speak  to  you  as  I  ought. 
Why  did  I  use  to  tremble  when  you  used  to  speak  kind  to 
me?  Sir,  when  I  first  came  here,  I  hadn't  a  bad  heart.  I  was 
a  felon,  but  I  was  a  man.  They  turned  me  to  a  brute  by 
cruelty  and  wrong.  You  came  too  late,  sir.  It  wasn't  Tom 
Robinson  you  found  in  that  cell.  I  had  got  to  think  all 
men  were  devils.  They  poisoned  my  soul !  I  hated  God  and 
man ! 

"The  very  chaplain  before  you  said  good  kind  words  in 
church,  but  out  of  it  he  was  Hawes'  tool.  Then  you  came 
and  spoke  good  kind  words.  My  heart  ran  to  meet  them ; 
then  it  drew  back  all  shivering,  and  said,  'This  is  a  hypocrite 

i8o 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

too !'     I  was  a  fool  and  a  villain  to  think  so  for  a  moment, 
and  perhaps  I  didn't  at  bottom,  but  I  was  turned  to  gall. 

"Oh,  sir!  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  lose  hope — to  find 
out  that,  do  what  you  will,  you  can't  be  right,  can't  escape 
abuse  and  hatred  and  torture.  Treat  a  man  like  a  dog  and 
you  make  him  one ! 

"But  you  came :  your  voice,  your  face,  your  eye,  were  all 
pity  and  kindness.  I  hoped,  but  I  was  afraid  to  hope !  I 
had  seen  but  two  things — butchers  and  hypocrites.  Then  I 
had  sworn  in  my  despair  never  to  speak  again,  and  I  wouldn't 
speak  to  you.  Fool ! — How  kind  and  patient  you  were.  Sir, 
once  when  you  left  me  you  sighed  as  you  closed  the  cell 
door.  I  came  after  you  to  beg  your  pardon  when  it  was 
too  late;  indeed  I  did,  upon  my  honour.  And  when  you 
would  rub  the  ointment  on  my  throat  in  spite  of  my  in- 
gratitude, I  could  have  worshipped  you,  but  my  pride  held 
me  back  like  an  iron  hand.  Why  did  I  tremble?  That  was 
the  devil  and  my  better  part  fighting  inside  me  for  the  upper 
hand.  And  another  thing,  I  did  not  dare  speak  to  you ;  I 
felt  that,  if  I  did,  I  should  give  way  altogether,  like  a  wom- 
an or  a  child ;  I  feel  so  now.  For,  oh !  can't  you  guess  what 
it  must  be  to  a  poor  fellow  when  all  the  rest  are  savage  as 
wolves,  and  one  is  kind  as  a  woman  ?  Oh,  you  have  been  a 
friend  to  me.  You  don't  know  all  you  have  done ;  you  have 
saved  my  life.  When  you  came  here,  a  stocking  was  knotted 
round  my  throat,  a  minute  later  the  man  you  call  your  brother 
— God  bless  you! — would  have  been  no  more.  There,  I 
never  meant  you  should  know  that,  and  now  it  has  slipped 
out.  My  benefactor !  my  kind  friend !  my  angel  I  for  you 
are  an  angel  and  not  a  man.  What  can  I  do  to  show  you 
what  I  feel?  What  can  I  say?  There,  I  tremble  all  over 
now,  as  I  did  then.  I'm  choking  for  words,  and  the  cruel 
thick  door  keeps  me  from  you.  I  want  to  put  my  neck 
under  your  foot,  for  I  can't  speak.  All  I  say  isn't  worth  a 
button.  Words !  words !  words !  give  me  words  that  mean 
something.  They  shan't  keep  me  from  you,  they  shan't ! 
they  shan't !  My  stubborn  heart  was  between  us  once,  now 
there  is  only  a  door.  Give  me  your  hand ! — give  me  your 
hand  before  mv  heart  bursts." 

"There !  there !" 

i8i 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

"Hold  it  there !" 

"Yes !  yes !" 

"My  lips  are  here  close  opposite  it.  I  am  kissing  your 
dear  hand.  There !  there !  there  !  I  bless  you  !  I  love  you ! 
I  adore  you !  I  am  kissing  your  hand,  and  I  am  on  my 
knees  blessing  you  and  kissing.  Oh,  my  heart !  my  heart !  my 
heart !" 

There  was  a  long  silence,  disturbed  only  by  sobs  that  broke 
upon  the  night  from  the  black  cell.  Mr.  Eden  leaned  against 
the  door  with  his  hand  in  the  same  place ;  the  prisoner  kissed 
the  spot  from  time  to  time. 

"Your  reverence  is  crying,  too !"  was  the  first  word  spoken, 
very  gently. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"You  don't  speak,  and  my  heart  tells  me  you  are  shed- 
ding a  tear  for  me;  there  was  only  that  left  to  do  for 
me." 

Then  there  was  another  silence,  and  true  it  was  that  the 
good  man  and  the  bad  man  mingled  some  tears  through  the 
massy  door.  These  two  hearts  pierced  it,  and  went  to  and 
for  through  it,  and  melted  in  spite  of  it,  and  defied  and 
utterly  defeated  it. 

"Did  you  speak,  dear  sir?" 

"No;  not  for  the  world.  Weep  on,  my  poor  sinning,  suf- 
fering brother.  Heaven  sends  you  this  blessed  rain ;  let  it 
drop  quietly  on  your  parched  soul,  refresh  you,  and  shed 
peace  on  your  troubled  heart.  Drop  gentle  dew  from  heaven 
upon  his  spirit ;  prepare  the  dry  soul  for  the  good  seed." 

And  so  the  bad  man  wept  abundantly ;  to  him  old  long- 
dried  sources  of  tender  feeling  were  now  unlocked  by  Chris- 
tian love  and  pity. 

The  good  man  shed  a  gentle  tear  or  two  of  sympathy;  of 
sorrow  too,  to  find  so  much  goodness  had  been  shut  up. 
driven  in,  and  well-nigh  quenched  for  ever  in  the  poor  thief. 

To  both  these  holy  drops  were  as  the  dew  of  Hermon  on 
their  souls. 

"O  lacrymarum   fons   tenero   sacros 
Ducentium  ortus  ex  animo ;  qnater 
Felix  in  imo  qui  scatentem 
Pectore  te  pia   Nympha  sensit." 
182 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Robinson  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"Go  home,  sir,  now ;  you  have  done  your  work,  you  have 
saved  me.  I  feel  at  peace.  I  could  sleep.  You  need  not 
fear  to  leave  me  now." 

'T  shall  sit  here  until  you  are  asleep,  and  then  I  will  go. 
Do  you  hear  this  ?"  and  he  scratched  the  door  with  his  key. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  when  I  do  so  and  you  do  not  tap  in  reply,  I  shall 
know  you  are  asleep." 

Robinson,  whose  heart  was  now  so  calmed,  felt  his  eyes 
get  heavier  and  heavier.  After  awhile  he  spoke  to  Mr.  Eden, 
but  received  no  reply. 

"Perhaps  he  is  dozing,"  thought  Robinson.  "I  won't  dis- 
turb him." 

Then  he  composed  himself,  lying  close  to  the  door  to  be 
near  his  friend. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Eden  scratched  the  door  with  his  key. 
There  was  no  answer ;  then  he  rose  softly  and  went  to  his 
own  room. 

Robinson  slept.  Slept  like  an  infant  after  this  feverish 
day.  His  body  lay  still  in  a  hole  dark  and  almost  as  narrow 
as  the  grave,  but  his  spirit  had  broken  prison.  Tired  nature's 
sweet  restorer  descended  like  a  dove  upon  his  wet  eye-lids, 
and  fanned  him  with  her  downy  wings,  and  bedewed  the  hot 
heart  and  smarting  limbs  with  her  soothing  vivifying  balm. 

At  six  o'clock  Evans  went  and  opened  Robinson's  cell  door. 
He  was  on  the  ground  sleeping,  with  a  placid  smile  on  his 
face.  Evans  looked  down  at  him  with  a  puzzled  air. 
Whilst  contemplating  him  he  was  joined  by  Fry. 

"Ugh !"  grunted  that  worthy,  "seems  to  agree  with  him." 
And  he  went  off  and  told  Hawes. 

Directly  after  chapel,  which  he  was  not  allowed  to  at- 
tend, came  an  order  to  take  Robinson  out  of  the  dark  cell 
and  put  him  on  the  crank. 

The  disciplinarian,  defeated  in  his  attempt  on  Robinson, 
was  compensated  by  a  rare  stroke  of  good  fortune — a  case 
of  real  refractoriness,  even  this  was  not  perfect,  but  it  an- 
swered every  purpose. 

In  one  of  the  labour  cells  they  found  a  prisoner  seated 
with  the  utmost  coolness  across  the  handle  of  his  crank.    He 

183 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

welcomed  his  visitants  with  a  smile,  and  volunteered  a  piece 
of  information — "it  is  all  right." 

Now  it  couldn't  be  all  right,  for  it  was  impossible  he  could 
have  done  his  work  in  the  time.  Hawes  looked  at  the  face 
of  the  crank  to  see  how  much  had  been  done,  and  lo !  the  face 
was  broken  and  the  index  had  disappeared.  As  Mr.  Hawes 
examined  the  face  of  the  crank,  the  prisoner  leered  at  him 
with  a  mighty  silly  cunning. 

This  personage's  name  was  Carter ;  it  may  be  as  well  to 
explain  him.  Go  into  any  large  English  gaol  on  any  day 
in  any  year  you  like,  you  shall  find  there  two  or  three  prison- 
ers who  have  no  business  to  be  in  such  a  place  at  all — half- 
witted, half-responsible  creatures,  mis-sent  to  gaol  by  shallow 
judges,  contentedly  executing  those  shallow  laws  they  ought 
to  modify  and  stigmatise  until  civilisation  shall  come  and  cor- 
rect them. 

These  imbeciles,  if  the  nation  itself  was  not  both  half-wit- 
ted and  a  thoughtless  ignorant  dunce  in  all  matters  relating 
to  such  a  trifle  (Heaven  forgive  us!)  as  its  prisons,  would 
be  taken  to  the  light,  not  plunged  into  darkness ;  would  not 
be  shut  up  alone  with  their  no-minds  to  accumulate  the  stu- 
pidity that  has  undone  them,  but  forced  into  collision  with 
better  understandings ;  would  not  be  closeted  in  a  gaol,  but 
in  a  mild  asylum  with  a  school  attached. 

The  offences  of  these  creatures  is  seldom  theft,  hardly 
ever  violence.  This  idiot  was  sentenced  to  two  years'  sepa- 
rate confinement  for  being  the  handle  with  which  two  knaves 
had  passed  base  coin.  The  same  day,  the  same  tribunal  sen- 
tenced a  scoundrel  who  was  not  an  idiot,  and  had  beaten  and 
kicked  his  wife  to  the  edge  of  the  grave — ^to  fourteen  years' 
imprisonment? — no,  to  four  months. 

Mr.  Carter  had  observed  that  Fry  looked  at  a  long  iron 
needle  on  the  face  of  the  crank,  and  that  when  he  had  been 
lazy,  somehow  this  needle  pointed  out  the  fact  to  Fry.  He 
could  not  understand  it,  but  then  the  world  was  brimful  of 
things  he  could  not  understand  one  bit.  It  was  no  use  stand- 
ing idle  till  he  could  comprehend  rerum  naturam — bother  it ! 
In  short,  Mr.  Carter  did  what  is  a  dangerous  thing  for  peo- 
ple in  his  condition  to  do,  he  cogitated,  and  the  result  of  this 

184 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

unfamiliar  process  was  that  he  broke  the  glass  of  the  crank 
face,  took  out  the  index,  shied  the  pieces  of  glass  carefully 
over  the  wall,  secreted  the  needle,  took  about  ten  turns  of 
the  crank,  and  then  left  off  and  sat  down  exulting  secretly. 

When  they  came  as  usual  and  went  to  consult  the  accusing 
needle,  he  chuckled  and  leered  with  foolish  cunning.  But 
his  chuckle  died  away  into  a  most  doleful  quaver  when  he 
found  himself  surrounded,  jacketed,  strapped,  and  collared. 
He  struggled  furiously  at  first,  like  some  wild  animal  in  a 
net;  and  when  resistance  was  hopeless  the  poor  half-witted 
creature  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  uttered  loud  wild-beast  cries 
of  pain  and  terror  that  rang  through  the  vast  prison. 

These  horrible  cries  brought  all  the  warders  to  the  spot, 
and  Mr.  Eden.  There  he  found  Carter  howling,  and  Hawes 
in  front  of  him,  cursing  and  threatening  him  with  destruction, 
if  he  did  not  hold  his  noise. 

He  might  as  well  have  suspended  a  dog  from  a  branch 
by  the  hind  leg,  and  told  him  he  mustn't  howl. 

This  sight  drove  a  knife  through  Mr.  Eden's  heart.  He 
stood  amongst  them  white  as  a  sheet.  He  could  not  speak, 
but  his  pale  face  was  a  silent  protest  against  this  enormity. 
His  look  of  horror  and  righteous  indignation  chilled  and 
made  uneasy  the  inquisitors,  all  but  Hawes, 

"Hold  your  noise,  ye  howling  brute,  or  I'll" — and  he 
clapped  his  hands  before  Carter's  mouth. 

Carter  seized  his  thumb  with  his  teeth,  and  bit  it  to  the 
bone.  Hawes  yelled  with  pain,  and  strove  furiously  to  get 
his  hand  away,  but  Carter  held  it  like  a  tiger.  Hawes 
capered  with  agony,  and  yelled  again.  The  first  to  come  to 
his  relief  was  Mr.  Eden.  He  was  at  the  biped's  side  in  a 
moment,  and  pinched  his  nose.  Now  as  his  lungs  were  puff- 
ing like  a  blacksmith's  bellows,  his  mouth  flew  open  the  mo- 
ment the  other  breathing-hole  was  stopped,  and  Hawes  got 
his  bleeding  hand  away. 

He  held  it  with  the  other  and  shook  it,  and  moaned  dis- 
mally, like  a  great  girl ;  but  suddenly  looking  up  he  saw  a 
half  grin  upon  the  faces  of  his  myrmidons. 

For  the  contrast  of  a  man  telling  another  who  was  in  pain 
not  to  make  a  row,  and  the  next  moment  making  an  abomi- 
nable row  himself  for  no  better  reason,  was  funny. 

185 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

For  all  this  occurred  ten  times  quicker  in  action  than  in 
relation. 

Mr.  Hawes'  conversion  to  noise  came  rapidly  in  a  single 
sentence  after  this  fashion. 

" you   hold   your  infernal   noise.     Oh !   Augh !   Ah ! 

E  E !  E  E !  Aah !  Oh !  Oh !  E  E !  E  E !  O  O !  O  O !  O  O ! 
O  O!  O  O!  O  O!" 

So  Fry  and  Hodges  and  Evans  and  Davis  grinned. 

For  all  these  men  had  learned  from  Hawes  to  laugh  at 
pain — (another's).  One  man  alone  did  not  even  smile.  He 
was  an  observer,  and  did  not  expect  any  one  to  be  great  at 
bearing  pain  who  was  rash  in  inflicting  it;  moreover,  he 
suffered  with  all  who  suffer.  He  was  sorry  for  the  pilloried 
biped,  and  sorry  for  the  bitten  brute. 

He  then  gave  them  another  lesson.  "All  you  want  the  poor 
thing  to  do  is  to  suffer  in  silence.  Withdraw  twenty  yards 
from  him."  He  set  the  example  by  retreating;  the  others, 
Hawes  included,  being  off  their  guard,  obeyed  mechanically 
the  superior  spirit. 

Carter's  cries  died  away  into  a  whimpering  moan.  The 
turnkeys  looked  at  one  another,  and  with  a  sort  of  com- 
mencement of  respect  at  Mr.  Eden. 

"Parsons  knows  more  than  we  do." 

Hawes  interrupted  this  savagely. 

"Ye  fools !  couldn't  you  see  it  was  the  sight  of  your  ugly 
faces  made  him  roar,  not  the  jacket?  Keep  him  there  till 
further  orders;"  and  he  went  off  to  plaster  his  wounded 
hand. 

Mr.  Eden  sat  down  and  covered  his  face.  He  was  as 
miserable  as  this  vile  world  can  make  a  man  who  lives  for 
a  better.  The  good  work  he  was  upon  was  so  difficult  in 
itself,  and  those  who  ought  to  have  helped  fought  against 
him.  . 

When,  with  intelligence,  pain,  and  labour,  he  had  built 
up  a  little  good,  Hawes  was  sure  to  come  and  knock 
it  down  again ;  and  this  was  the  way  to  break  his 
heart. 

He  had  been  taking  such  pains  with  this  poor  biped ;  he 
had  played  round  his  feeble  understanding  to  find  by  what 
door  a  little  wisdom  and  goodness  could  be  made  to  enter 

i86 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

him.  At  last  he  had  found  that  pictures  pleased  him  and 
excited  him,  and  awakened  all  the  intelligence  he  had. 

Mr.  Eden  had  a  vast  collection  of  engravings  and  photo- 
graphs. His  plan  with  Carter  was  to  show  him  some  en- 
graving presenting  a  fact  or  anecdote.  First  he  would  put 
under  his  eyes  a  cruel  or  unjust  action.  He  would  point  out 
the  signs  of  suffering  in  one  of  the  figures.  Carter  would 
understand  this,  because  he  saw  it.  Then  Mr.  Eden  would 
excite  his  sympathy.  "Poor  so  and  so !"  would  Mr.  Eden 
say  in  a  pitying  voice.  "Poor  so  and  so !"  would  biped  Car- 
ter echo.  After  several  easy  lessons  he  would  find  him  a 
picture  of  some  more  moderate  injustice,  and  so  raise  the 
shadow  of  a  difficulty,  and  draw  a  little  upon  Carter's  un- 
derstanding as  well  as  sympathy.  Then  would  come  pictures 
of  charity,  of  benevolence,  and  other  good  actions.  These 
and  their  effects  upon  the  several  figures  Carter  was  invited 
to  admire,  and  so  on  to  a  score  of  topics.  The  first  thing 
was  to  make  Carter  think  and  talk,  which  he  did  in  the 
happy-go-lucky  way  of  his  class,  uttering  nine  mighty 
simple  remarks,  and  then  ?  bit  of  superlative  wisdom,  or 
something  that  sounded  like  it.  And  when  he  had  shot  his 
random  bolts,  Mr.  Eden  would  begin,  and  treat  each  picture 
as  a  text,  and  utter  much  wisdom  on  it  in  simple  words. 

He  found  Carter's  mind  in  a  state  of  actual  lethargy.  He 
got  it  out  of  that ;  he  created  an  excitement  and  kept  it  up. 
He  got  at  his  little  bit  of  mind  through  his  senses.  Honour 
to  all  the  great  arts !  The  limit  of  their  beauty  and  their 
usefulness  has  never  yet  been  found,  and  never  will.  Paint- 
ing was  the  golden  key  this  thinker  held  to  the  Bramah  lock 
of  an  imbecile's  understanding — the  ponderous  wards  were 
beginning  to  revolve — when  a  blockhead  came  and  did  his 
best  to  hamper  the  lock. 

In  English,  Eden  was  gradually  making  the  biped  a  man : 
comes  Hawes  and  turns  him  to  a  brute.  The  whimpering 
moans  of  Carter  were  thoroughly  animal,  and  the  poor 
biped's  degradation  as  well  as  his  suffering  made  Mr.  Eden 
wretched. 

To-day  for  the  first  time  the  chaplain  saw  a  prisoner  cru- 
cified without  suffering  that  peculiar  physical  weakness  which 
I  have  more  than  once  noticed.    Poor  soul !  he  was  so  pleased 

187 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

at  this  that  he  thanked  Heaven  for  curing  him  of  that  con- 
temptible infirmity,  so  he  called  it.  But  he  had  to  pay  for 
this  victory :  he  never  felt  so  sick  at  heart  as  now.  He 
turned  for  relief  to  the  duties  he  had  in  his  zeal  added  to  a 
chaplain's  acknowledged  routine :  he  visited  his  rooms  and 
all  his  rational  workpeople. 

The  sight  of  all  the  good  he  was  doing  by  teaching  the 
sweets  of  anti-theft  was  always  a  cordial  to  him. 

Almost  the  last  cell  he  visited  was  Thomas  Robinson's. 
The  man  had  been  fretting  and  worrying  himself  to  know 
why  he  did  not  come  before.  As  soon  as  the  door  was 
opened  he  took  an  eager  step  to  meet  him,  then  stopped  ir- 
resolutely, and  blushed  and  beamed  with  pleasure  mixed  with 
a  certain  confusion.  He  looked  volumes,  but  waited  out  of 
respect  for  his  reverence  to  address  him. 

Mr.  Eden  held  out  his  hand  to  him  with  a  frank  manner 
and  kind  smile.  At  this  Robinson  tried  to  speak,  but  could 
only  stammer,  something  seemed  to  rise  in  his  throat  and 
block  up  the  exit  of  words. 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "no  more  of  that ;  be  composed, 
and  I  will  sit  down,  for  I  am  tired." 

Robinson  brought  him  his  stool,  and  Mr.  Eden  sat  down. 

They  conversed,  and  after  some  kind  inquiries,  Mr.  Eden 
came  to  the  grand  purport  of  this  visit,  which,  to  the  sur- 
prise and  annoyance  of  Robinson,  was  to  reprobate  severely 
the  curses  and  blasphemies  he  had  uttered  as  they  were 
dragging  him  to  the  dark  cell.  And  so  threatening  and 
severe  was  Mr,  Eden,  that  at  last  poor  Robinson  whined 
out — 

"Sir,  you  will  make  me  wish  I  was  in  the  dark  cell  again, 
for  then  you  took  my  part ;  now  you  are  against  me." 

"There  is  a  time  for  everything  under  the  sun.  When 
you  were  in  the  dark  cell,  consolation  and  indulgence  were 
the  best  things  for  your  soul,  and  I  gave  them  you  as  well 
as  I  could.  You  are  not  in  the  dark  cell  now,  and  out  of 
the  same  love  for  you,  I  tell  you  that  if  God  took  you  this 
night  the  curses  you  uttered  yesterday  would  destroy  you  to 
all  eternity." 

"I  hope  not,  your  reverence." 

"Away  with  delusive  hopes,  thev  war  against  the  soul.  I 

i88 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

tell  you  those  curses  that  came  from  a  tongue  set  on  fire 
of  hell  have  placed  you  under  the  ban  of  Heaven.  Are  you 
not  this  Hawes'  brother,  his  brother  every  way — two  un- 
forgiven  sinners?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Robinson,  truckling;  "of  course  I  know 
I  am  a  great  sinner,  a  desperate  sinner,  not  worthy  to  be  in 
your  reverence's  company.  But  I  hope,"  he  added  with  sud- 
den sincerity  and  spirit,  "you  don't  think  I  am  such  an 
out-and-out  scoundrel  as  that  Hawes." 

"Mr.  Hawes  would  tell  me  you  are  the  scoundrel,  and  he 
a  zealous  servant  of  morality  and  order;  but  these  com- 
parisons are  out  of  place.  I  am  now  deferring  not  to  the 
world's  judgment,  but  to  a  higher,  in  whose  eye  Mr.  Hawes 
and  you  stand  on  a  level — two  un forgiven  sinners ;  if  not 
forgiven  you  will  both  perish  everlastingly,  and  to  be  for- 
given you  must  forgive.  God  is  very  forgiving — He  for- 
gives the  best  of  us  a  thousand  vile  offences.  But  He  never 
forgives  unconditionally.  His  terms  are  our  repentance  and 
our  forgiveness  of  those  who  offend  us  one  millionth  part  as 
deeply  as  we  offend  Him.  Therefore,  in  praying  against 
Hawes  you  have  prayed  against  yourself.  Give  me  your 
slate — no,  take  it  yourself.    Write " 

Robinson  took  his  pencil  with  alacrity.  He  wrote  a  beau- 
tiful hand,  and  wanted  to  show  off  this  accomplishment  to 
his  reverence. 

"  'Forgive  us  our  sins  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass 
against  us.'  " 

"It  is  down,  sir." 

"Now  particularise." 

"Particularise,  your  reverence?" 

"Write  under  'us,'  'our,'  and  'we,'  'me,'  'my,'  and  'I,'  re- 
spectivelv." 

"All  right,  sir." 

"Now,  under  'them'  write  'Mr.  Hawes.'  " 

"Ugh!     Yes,  your  reverence,  'Mr.  Hawes.'" 

"And  under  the  last  four  words  write,  'his  cruelty  to 
me. 

This  was  wormwood  to  Mr.  Robinson.  "His  cruelty  to 
me. 

"Now  read  your  work  out." 

189 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"  'Forgive  me  my  sins  as  I  forgive  Mr.  Hawes  his  cruelty 
to  me.'  " 

"Now  ponder  over  those  words.  Keep  them  before  your 
eye  here,  and  try  at  least  and  bow  your  stubborn  heart  to 
them.  Fall  on  them  and  be  broken,  or  they  will  fall  on 
you  and  grind  you  to  powder."  He  concluded  in  a  terrible 
tone;  then,  seeing  Robinson  abashed,  more  from  a  notion 
he  was  in  a  rage  with  him  than  from  any  deeper  sentiment, 
he  bade  him  farewell  kindly  as  ever. 

"I  know,"  said  he,  'T  have  given  you  a  hard  task.  We 
can  all  gabble  the  Lord's  Prayer,  but  how  few  have  ever 
prayed  it !  But  at  least  try,  my  poor  soul,  and  I  will  set  you 
an  example.  I  will  pray  for  my  brother  Robinson  and  my 
brother  Hawes,  and  I  shall  pray  for  them  all  the  more  warm- 
ly, that  at  present  one  is  a  blaspheming  thief  and  the  other 
a  pitiless  blockhead." 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  Mr.  Eden  preached  two  ser- 
mons that  many  will  remember  all  their  lives.  The  first  was 
against  theft  and  all  the  shades  of  dishonesty,  I  give  a  few 
of  his  topics :  the  dry  bones  he  covered  with  flesh  and  blood 
and  beauty.  The  tendency  of  theft  was  to  destroy  all  moral 
and  social  good ;  for  were  it  once  to  prevail  so  far  as  to  make 
property  insecure,  industry  would  lose  heart,  enterprise  and 
frugality  be  crushed,  and  at  last  the  honest  turn  thieves  in 
self-defence.  Nearly  every  act  of  theft  had  a  baneful  in- 
fluence on  the  person  robbed. 

Here  he  quoted  by  name  instances  of  industrious,  frugal 
persons,  whose  savings  having  been  stolen,  they  had  lost 
courage  and  good  habits  of  years'  standing,  and  had  ended 
ill.  Then  he  gave  them  a  simile.  These  great  crimes  are  like 
great  trunk  railways.  They  create  many  smaller  ones :  some 
flow  into  them;  some  out  of  them.  Drunkenness  generally 
precedes  an  act  of  theft :  drunkenness  always  follows  it ;  lies 
flow  from  it  in  streams,  and  perjury  rushes  to  its  defence. 

It  breeds,  too,  other  vices  that  punish  it,  but  never  cure 
it — prodigality  and  general  loose  living.  The  thief  is  never 
the  richer  by  this  vile  act  which  impoverishes  his  victim ; 
for  the  monev  obtained  by  this  crime  is  wasted  in  others. 
The  folly  of  theft ;  its  ill  economy.  What  high  qualities  are 
laid  out  to  their  greatest  disadvantage  by  the  thief — acute- 

190 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ness,  watchfulness,  sagacity,  determination,  tact.  These  vir- 
tues, coupled  with  integrity,  enrich  thousands  every  year. 
How  many  thieves  do  they  enrich?  How  many  thieves  are 
a  shilling  a  year  the  better  for  the  hundreds  of  pounds  that 
come  dishonestly  into  their  hands? 

*Tn  gaol  (Mr.  Lepel's),  there  is  now  a  family  that 

have  stolen,  first  and  last,  property  worth  eighteen  thousand 
pounds.  The  entire  possessions  of  this  family  are  now  two 
pair  of  shoes.  The  clothes  they  stand  in  belong  to  Govern- 
ment ;  their  own  had  to  be  burned,  so  foul  were  they.  Eigh- 
teen thousand  pounds  had  they  stolen — to  be  beggars ;  and 
this  is  the  rule  not  the  exception,  as  you  all  know.  Why  is 
this  your  fate  and  your  end?  Because  a  mightier  power 
than  man's  has  determined  that  thieving  shall  not  thrive. 
The  curse  of  God  is  upon  theft !" 

Then  came  life-like  pictures  of  the  honest  man  and  the 
thief.  The  one  with  an  eye  that  faced  you  with  a  conscious 
dignity,  and  often  a  cheerful  countenance ;  the  other  with  a 
shrinking  eye,  a  conscious  meanness,  and  never  with  a  smile 
from  the  heart ;  sordid,  sly,  and  unhappy — for  theft  is  misery. 
No  wonder  this  crime  degrades  a  man  when  it  degrades 
the  very  animals.  Look  at  a  dog  who  has  stolen.  Before 
this,  when  he  met  his  master  or  any  human  friend,  he  used 
to  run  up  to  greet  them  with  wagging  tail  and  sparkling 
eye.  Now  see  him :  at  sight  of  any  man,  he  crawls  meanly 
away,  with  cowering  figure  and  eye  askant,  the  living  image 
of  the  filthy  sin  he  has  committed.  He  feels  he  has  no  longer 
a  right  to  greet  a  man,  for  he  is  a  thief. 

And  here  the  preacher  gathered  images,  facts,  and  satire, 
and  hurled  a  crushing  hailstorm  of  scorn  upon  the  sordid  sin. 
Then  he  attacked  the  present  situation  (his  invariable  cus- 
tom). 

"Not  all  the  inmates  of  a  gaol  were  equally  guilty  on  their 
arrival  there.  A  large  proportion  of  felons  were  orphans 
or  illegitimate  children ;  others,  still  more  unfortunate,  were 
the  children  of  criminals,  who  had  taught  them  crime  from 
their  cradles.  Great  excuses  were  to  be  made  for  the  general 
mass  of  criminals ;  excuses  that  the  ignorant,  shallow  world 
could  not  be  expected  to  make ;  but  the  balance  of  the  Sanc- 
tuary is  not  like  the  world's  clumsy  balance ;  it  weighs  all 

191 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  Ly\TE  TO  MEND 

men  to  a  hair.  Excuses  will  be  made  for  many  of  you  in 
heaven  up  to  a  certain  point.  And  what  is  that  point?  The 
day  of  your  entrance  into  prison.  But  now  plead  no  more 
the  ill  example  of  parents  and  friends,  for  here  you  are  cut 
off  from  it. 

"Plead  no  more  that  you  cannot  read,  for  here  you  have 
been  taught  to  read. 

"Plead  no  more  the  dreadful  power  of  vicious  habits,  that 
began  when  you  were  unguarded ;  for  those  habits  have  now 
been  cut  away  from  you  by  force,  and  better  habits  substi- 
tuted. 

"Plead  no  more  ignorance  of  God's  Word,  for  here  day 
by  day  it  is  poured  into  your  ears. 

"Your  situation  has  other  less  obvious  advantages.  Here 
you  are  little  exposed  to  the  soul's  most  dangerous  enemy 
— self-deception.  The  world  destroys  thousands  of  sinners 
by  flattery.  Half  the  great  sinners  upon  earth  are  what  is 
called  respectable.  The  world  tells  them  they  are  good — 
they  believe  it.  and  so  die  as  they  have  lived,  and  are  lost 
eternally.  The  world,  intending  to  be  more  unkind  to  you, 
is  far  more  kind ;  it  tells  yon  the  truth — that  you  are  des- 
perate sinners.  Here,  then,  where  everything  opens  your 
eyes,  oh !  fight  not  against  yourselves.  Repent,  or  fearful 
will  be  the  fresh  guilt  heaped  upon  your  heads !  Even  these 
words  of  mine  must  do  you  good  or  do  you  harm.  I  tremble 
when  I  tell  you  so.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  think."  The 
preacher  paused.  "You  know  that  I  love  you — ^that  I  would 
give  my  life  to  save  one  soul  of  all  those  I  see  before  me 
now.  Have  pity  on  me  and  on  yourselves.  Let  me  not  be 
so  unfortunate  as  to  add  to  your  guilt — I,  whose  heart  yearns 
to  do  you  good !  Oh,  my  poor  brothers  and  sisters  do  not 
pity  yourselves  so  much  less  than  I  pity  you — do  not  love 
yourselves  so  much  less  than  I  love  you !  Why  will  ye  die  ? 
Repent,  and  be  forgiven ! 

"Some  of  you  profess  attachment  to  me — some  talk  of 
gratitude.  There  are  some  of  my  poor  brothers  and  sisters 
in  this  gaol  that  say  to  me,  'Oh.  I  wish  I  could  do  something 
for  you.  sir !'  Perhaps  you  have  noticed  that  I  have  never 
answered  these  professions.  Well,  I  will  answer  them  now 
once  for  all." 

192 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

While  the  preacher  paused,  there  was  a  movement  ob- 
served amongst  the  prisoners. 

"Would  you  make  me  very — very  sad?  Remain  impeni- 
tent !  Would  you  make  me  happy  ?  Repent,  and  turn  to 
God!  Not  to-morrow,  or  next  day,  but  on  your  knees  in 
your  own  cells  the  moment  you  go  hence.  You  don't  know, 
vou  can't  dream  what  happiness  you  will  confer  on  me  if  you 
do  this !" 

Then  suddenly  opening  his  arms,  with  wonderful  grace 
and  warmth  and  energy  he  cried,  "My  poor  wandering  sheep, 
come — come  to  the  heavenly  fold !  Let  me  gather  you  as 
a  hen  gathers  her  chickens  under  her  wing.  You  are  my 
anxiety,  my  terror — be  my  joy,  my  consolation  here,  and 
hereafter  the  brightest  jewels  in  my  heavenly  crown." 

In  this  strain  he  soared  higher  than  my  poor  earth-clogged 
wings  can  follow  him.  He  had  lashed  sin  severely,  so  he 
had  earned  a  right  to  show  his  love  for  the  sinner.  Gracious 
words  of  entreaty  and  encouragement  gushed  from  him  in  a 
crystal  stream  with  looks  and  tones  of  more  than  mortal 
charity.  Men  might  well  doubt  was  this  a  man,  or  was  it 
Christianity  speaking?  Christianity,  born  in  a  stable,  was 
she  there,  illuminating  a  gaol?  For  now  for  a  moment  or 
two  the  sacred  orator  was  more  than  mortal ;  so  high  above 
earth  was  his  theme,  so  great  his  swelling  words.  He  rose, 
he  dilated  to  heroic  size,  he  flamed  with  sacred  fire ;  his  face 
shone  like  an  angel's,  and  no  silver  trumpet  or  deep-toned 
organ  could  compare  with  his  thundering,  pealing,  melting 
voice,  that  poured  the  soul  of  love  and  charity  and  heaven 
upon  friend  and  foe ;  then  seemed  it  as  though  a  sudden 
blaze  of  music  and  light  broke  into  that  dark  abode :  each 
sinful  form  stretched  wildly  forth  to  meet  them — each  ear 
hung  aching  on  them — each  glistening  eye  lived  on  them, 
and  every  heart  panted  and  quivered  as  this  great  Christian 
swept  his  immortal  harp — amongst  thieves  and  homicides 
and  oppressors — in  that  sad  house  of  God. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  sermon.  Fry?" 

Fry. — Liked  the  first  part,  sir,  where  he  walked  into  thiev- 
ing. Don't  like  his  telling  'em  he  loves  'em.  'Tisn't  to  be 
supposed  a  gentleman  could  really  love  such  rubbish  as  that. 
Sounds  like  palaver. 

"  193 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Hawes. — Now,  I  liked  it  all,  though  it  spoiled  my  nap. 

Fry. — Well,  sir,  it  is  very  good  of  you  to  like  it,  for  I 
don't  think  you  like  the  man. 

Halves. — The  man  is  all  very  well  in  his  place.  He  ought 
to  be  bottled  up  in  one  of  the  dark  cells  all  the  week,  and 
then  brought  up  and  uncorked  in  chapel  o'  Sundays.  It  is  as 
good  as  a  romance  is  a  sermon  of  his. 

Fry. — That  it  is,  sir.  Comes  next  after  the  Newgate 
Calendar,  don't  it  now?  But  there's  one  thing  about  all  his 
sermons  I  can't  get  over. 

Hawes. — And  what  is  that? 

Fry. — Preaches  at  'em  so. 

Hazves. — Why,  ye  fool,  that  is  the  beauty  of  him.  How 
is  he  to  hit  'em,  if  he  doesn't  hit  at  'em? 

Fry. — Mr.  Jones  usen't. 

Hawes. — Oh,  Jones !  He  shot  his  arrow  up  in  the  air,  and 
let  it  fall  wherever  the  wind  chose  to  blow  it,  and  then,  if 
it  came  down  on  the  wrong  man's  head,  he'd  say,  'Never 
mind,  my  boy,  accident ! — pure  accident !'  No !  give  me  a 
chap  that  hits  out  straight  from  the  shoulder.  Can't  you 
see  this  is  worth  a  hundred  Joneses  beating  about  the  bush 
and  droning  us  all  asleep? 

Fry. — So  he  is,  sir;  so  he  ^s.  But  then  I  think  he  didn't 
ought  to  be  quite  so  personal.  Fancy  his  requesting  such 
a  lot  as  ours  to  repent  their  sins  and  go  to  heaven  just  to 
oblige  him.  There's  an  inducement !  I  call  that  himper  dig 
from  the  pulpit, 

"What  d'ye  call  it?"  growled  Hawes  snappishly. 

"Himper  dig!"  replied  Fry  stoutly. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Eden  preached  against  cruelty. 

"No  crime  is  so  thoroughly  without  excuse  as  this.  Other 
crimes  have  sometimes  an  adequate  temptation — this  never. 
The  path  to  other  crimes  is  down-hill ;  to  cruelty  is  up-hill. 
In  the  very  act,  Nature,  who  is  on  the  side  of  some  crimes, 
cries  out  within  us  against  this  monstrous  sin.  The  blood 
of  our  victim  flowing  from  our  blows,  its  groans  and  sighs 
and  pallor,  stay  the  uplifted  arm  and  appeal  to  the  furious 
heart.  Wonderful  they  should  ever  appeal  in  vain.  Cruelty 
is  not  one  of  our  pleasant  vices,  and  the  opposite  virtues  are 
a  garden  of  delights :  'mercy  is  twice  blessed ;  it  blesseth  him 

194 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

that  gives  and  him  that  takes.'  God  has  written  His  abhor- 
rence of  this  monstrous  sin  in  letters  of  fire  and  blood  on 
every  page  of  history." 

Here  he  ransacked  history,  and  gave  them  some  thirty 
remarkable  instances  of  human  cruelty,  and  of  its  being 
punished  in  kind  so  strangely  and  v^ith  such  an  exactness 
of  retribution,  that  the  finger  of  God  seemed  visible  writing 
on  the  world — "God  hates  cruelty." 

At  the  end  of  his  examples  he  instanced  two  that  happened 
under  his  own  eye — a  favourite  custom  of  this  preacher. 

"A  man  was  tried  in  London  for  cruelty  to  animals ;  he 
was  acquitted  by  a  legal  flaw,  though  the  evidence  was  clear 
against  him.  This  man  returned  homewards  triumphant. 
The  train  in  which  he  sat  was  drawn  up  by  the  side  of  a 
station.  An  express  train  passed  on  the  up-line  at  full  speed. 
At  the  moment  of  passing  the  fly-wheel  of  the  engine  broke ; 
a  large  fragment  was  driven  into  the  air  and  fell  upon  the 
stationary  train ;  it  burst  through  one  of  the  carriages,  and 
killed  a  man  upon  the  spot.  That  man  was  seated  between 
two  other  men,  neither  of  whom  received  the  slightest  injury. 
The  man  so  singled  out  was  the  cruel  man  who  had  evaded 
man's  justice,  but  could  not  escape  His  hand  who  created 
the  beasts  as  well  as  man,  and  who  abhors  all  men  who  are 
cruel  to  any  creature  He  has  formed. 

"A  man  and  his  wife  conspired  to  rob  and  murder  their 
friend  and  constant  guest.  Determined  to  escape  detection, 
they  coldly  prepared  for  the  deed  of  blood.  Long  before 
the  murder  they  dug  a  hole  in  the  passage  leading  from  their 
parlour  to  their  dining-room,  and  this  hole  was  to  receive 
the  corpse  of  the  man  with  whom  meantime  these  heartless 
wretches  ate  bread  day  after  day  and  drank  his  health  at 
their  own  board.  Several  times  the  unfortunate  man  walked 
with  the  host  and  hostess  over  this  concealed  hole,  his  des- 
tined tomb,  before  the  time  came  to  sacrifice  him.  At  last 
they  murdered  him,  and  buried  him  in  the  grave  they  had 
prepared  for  him.  The  deed  done,  spite  of  all  their  pre- 
cautions, fear  fell  on  them  and  hatred,  and  they  fled  from 
the  house  where  the  corpse  was  and  from  each  other,  one 
to  the  north  one  to  the  south.  Fled  they  ever  so  fast,  or 
so  far  apart,  justice  followed  to  the  north,  justice  followed 

195 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

to  the  south,  and  dragged  the  miscreants  together  again  and 
flung  them  into  one  prison.  They  were  convicted  and  con- 
demned to  death.  There  came  a  fatal  morning  to  this  guilty 
pair,  when  the  sun  rose  upon  them  and  found  them  full  of 
health  and  strength,  yet  in  one  short  hour  they  must  be  dead. 
They  were  taken  into  the  prison  chapel  according  to  custom, 
and  from  the  chapel  they  must  pass  at  once  to  the  gallows. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  the  direct  path  from  the  chapel  to 
the  gallows  was  blocked  up  by  some  repairs  that  were  going 
on  in  the  prison,  so  the  condemned  were  obliged  to  make  a 
long  circuit.  It  was  one  of  the  largest  of  our  old  prisons, 
a  huge,  irregular  building,  constructed  with  no  simplicity  of 
design,  and  one  set  of  officers  did  not  always  know  what 
was  going  on  in  a  distant  department.  Hence  it  befell  that 
in  a  certail  passage  of  the  gaol  the  condemned  and  their  at- 
tendants came  suddenly  upon  a  new-made  grave?  Stones 
had  been  taken  up,  and  a  grave  dug  in  this  passage :  the 
workmen  had  but  just  completed  it.  The  grave  filled  up  the 
passage,  which  was  narrow,  and  but  little  used.  The  men 
who  accompanied  the  murderers  paused  abashed  and  chilled. 
The  murderers  paused,  and  looked  at  one  another;  no  words 
can  describe  that  look !  Planks  were  put  down,  and  they 
walked  over  their  own  grave  to  their  death.  Is  there  a 
sceptic  who  tells  me  this  was  chance?  Then  I  tell  him 
he  is  a  credulous  fool  to  believe  that  chance  can  imitate 
omniscience,  omnipotence,  and  holiness,  so  inimitably.  In 
this  astounding  fact  of  exact  retribution  I  see  nothing  that 
resembles  chance.  I  see  the  arm  of  God,  and  the  finger  of 
God.  His  arm  dragged  the  murderers  to  the  gallows.  His 
finger  thrust  the  heartless,  cruel  miscreants  across  the  grave 
that  was  yawning  for  their  doomed  bodies !  Tremble,  ye 
cruel !  God  hates  ye !  Men  speak  of  a  murder — and  some- 
times, by  way  of  distinction,  they  say  'a  cruel  murder.'  See. 
now,  what  a  crime  cruelty  must  be  since  it  can  aggravate 
murder,  the  crime  before  which  all  other  sins  dwindle  into 
nothing. 

"Of  minor  cruelties  that  do  not  attack  life  itself,  the  most 
horrible,  he  thought,  was  cruelty  to  women.  Here  the  man 
must  trample  on  every  manly  feeling,  on  the  instinct  and  the 
traditions  of  sex,  on  the  opinion  of  mankind,  on  the  gener- 

196 


I 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

osity  that  goes  with  superior  strength  and  courage.  A  man 
who  is  cruel  to  a  woman  is  called  a  brute,  but  if  the  brutes 
could  speak,  they  would  appeal  against  this  phrase  as  un- 
just to  them.  What  animal  but  man  did  you  ever  see  mal- 
treat a  female  of  his  species  ?  The  brutes  are  not  such  beasts 
as  bad  cruel  men  are.  Or,  if  you  ever  saw  such  a  mon- 
strosity, the  animal  that  did  it  was  some  notorious  coward, 
such  as  the  deer,  which,  I  believe,  is  now  and  then  guilty 
in  a  trifling  degree  of  this  dirty  sin,  being  a  rank  coward. 
But  who  ever  saw  a  lion  or  a  dog,  or  any  courageous  animal, 
let  himself  down  to  the  level  of  a  cowardlv  man  so  far  as 
this  ?" 

Here  sprang  from  his  lips  a  true  and  tender  picture  of  a 
wife :  the  narrow  and  virtuous  circle  of  her  joys,  her  many 
sufferings,  great  and  little — no  need  of  being  cruel  to  her; 
she  must  suffer  so  much  without  that.  The  claims  to  pity 
and  uncommon  consideration  every  woman  builds  up  during 
a  few  years  of  marriage.  Her  inestimable  value  in  the  house. 
How  true  to  the  hearth  she  is  unless  her  husband  corrupts 
her  or  drives  her  to  despair.  How  often  she  is  good  in 
spite  of  his  example.  How  rarely  she  is  evil  but  by  his 
example.  God  made  her  weaker  that  man  might  have  the 
honest  satisfaction  and  superior  joy  of  protecting  and  sup- 
porting her.  To  torture  her  with  the  strength  so  entrusted 
him  for  her  good  is  to  rebel  against  Heaven's  design — it  is 
to  be  a  monster,  a  coward,  and  a  fool. 

"There  was  one  more  kind  of  cruelty  it  was  his  duty  to 
touch  upon :  harsh  treatment  of  those  unhappy  persons  to 
whom  it  has  not  pleased  God  to  give  a  full  measure  of  rea- 
son. 

"This  is  a  sacred  calamity  to  which  the  intelligent  and  the 
good  in  all  ages  and  places  have  been  tender  and  pitiful.  In 
some  countries  these  unfortunates  are  venerated,  and  being 
little  able  to  guard  themselves,  are  held  to  be  under  Heaven's 
especial  protection.  This  is  a  beautiful  belief,  and  honours 
our  fallen  nature.  Yet  in  Christian  England,  I  grieve  and 
blush  to  say,  cruelty  often  falls  on  their  unprotected  heads. 
Who  has  not  seen  the  village  boys  follow  and  mock  these 
afflicted  persons?  Youth  is  cruel,  because  the  great  parent 
of  cruelty  is  general  ignorance  and  inexperience  of  the  class 

197 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

of  suffering  we  inflict.  Men  who  have  come  to  their  full 
reason  have  not  this  excuse.  What !  persecute  those  whom 
God  hath  smitten,  but  whom  He  still  loves,  and  will  take 
vengeance  on  all  who  maltreat  them.  On  such  and  on  all 
of  you  who  are  cruel,  shame  and  contempt  will  fall  sooner 
or  later  even  in  this  world,  and  at  that  solemn  day  when 
the  cruel  and  their  victims  shall  meet  the  Judge  of  the  quick 
and  the  dead,  He  on  whose  mercy  hangs  your  eternal  fate, 
will  say  to  you,  'Have  ye  shown  mercy  ?'  Oh !  these  words 
will  crush  your  souls.  Madmen !  know  ye  not  that  the  most 
righteous  man  on  earth  can  only  be  saved  by  God's  mercy, 
not  by  His  justice?  Would  you  forfeit  all  hope,  all  chance, 
all  possibility  of  that  mercy,  by  merciless  cruelty  to  your 
brothers  and  sisters  of  the  race  of  Adam?  Does  the  day  of 
judgment  seem  to  you  uncertain  or  so  distant  that  you  dare 
be  cruel  here  during  the  few  brief  days  you  have  to  prepare 
yourself  for  eternity?  If  you  are  under  this  delusion  here, 
I  tear  it  from  your  souls.  That  day  is  at  hand,  at  the  door." 
Then  in  a  moment,  by  the  magic  of  eloquence,  the  great 
day  of  retribution  was  no  longer  faint  and  distant,  but  upon 
them  in  all  its  terrors ;  and  they  who  in  the  morning  had 
leaned  forward  eagerly  to  catch  the  message  of  mercy,  now 
shrank  and  cowered  from  the  thunder  that  pealed  over  their 
heads,  and  the  lightning  of  awful  words  that  showed  them 
by  flashes  the  earth  quaking  and  casting  forth  her  dead — 
the  sea  trembling  and  casting  forth  her  dead — the  terrible 
trumpet  pealing  from  pole  to  pole — the  books  opened — the 
dread  Judge  seated — and  hell  yawning  for  the  guilty. 

"Well,  sir,  how  did  you  like  this  sermon?"  said  Fry  re- 
spectfully. 

"He  won't  preach  many  more  such  (imperative  mood) 
him.     I'll  teach  him  to  preach  at  people  from  the  pulpit." 

"Well,  that  is  what  I  say,  sir ;  but  you  said  you  liked  to 
hear  him  preach  at  folk." 

"So  I  do,"  replied  Hawes  angrily,  "but  not  at  me,  ye  fool !" 

This  afternoon  two  of  the  prisoners  rang  their  bells,  and 
on  the  warder  coming  to  them,  begged  in  much  agitation 
to  see  the  chaplain.  Mr.  Eden  was  always  at  the  prisoners' 
orders,  and  came  to  both  of  these ;  one  was  a  man  about 

198 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

thirty,  the  other  a  mere  boy.  The  same  evening  Mr.  Hawes 
sat  down,  his  features  working  wrathfully,  and  despatched 
a  note  to  Mr.  Locock,  one  of  the  visiting  justices,  and  a  par- 
ticular admirer  of  his. 

Meeting  Mr.  Eden  in  the  prison,  he  did  not  return  that 
gentleman's  salute :  this  was  his  way  of  implying  war ;  events 
were  thickening;  a  storm  was  brewing.  This  same  evening 
there  was  a  tap  at  Mr.  Eden's  private  door,  and  Evans  en- 
tered the  room.  The  man's  manner  was  peculiar.  He  wore 
outside  a  dogged  look,  as  if  fighting  against  some  inward 
feeling;  he  entered  looking  down  most  pertinaciously  at  the 
floor.     "Well,  Evans?" 

Evans  approached,  his  eyes  still  glued  upon  the  floor.  He 
shoved  a  printed  paper  roughly  into  Mr.  Eden's  hand,  and 
said  in  a  tone  of  sulky  reproach,  "Saw  ye  fret  because  ye 
could  not  get  it,  and  couldn't  bear  to  see  ye  fret." 

"Thank  you,  Evans,  thank  you !" 

"You  are  very  welcome,  sir,"  said  Evans  with  momentary 
deference  and  kindness.  Then  turning  suddenly  at  the  door 
in  great  wrath  with  a  tendency  to  whimper,  he  roared  out, 
"Ye'll  get  me  turned  out  of  my  place,  that's  what  ye'll  do !" 
and  went  off  apparently  in  tremendous  dudgeon.  The  print- 
ed paper  contained  "the  rules  of  the  prison,"  a  copy  of  which 
Mr.  Eden  had  asked  from  Hawes,  and  been  refused.  Evans 
had  watched  his  opportunity,  and  got  them  from  another 
warder  in  return  for  two  glasses  of  grog  outside  the  gaol. 

Mr.  Eden  fell  to  and  studied  the  paper  carefully  till  bed- 
time. As  he  read  it,  his  eye  more  than  once  flashed  with 
satisfaction  in  spite  of  a  great  despondency  that  had  now 
for  a  day  or  two  been  creeping  upon  him. 

This  depression  dated  from  biped  Carter's  crucifixion  or 
soon  after.  He  struggled  gallantly  against  it ;  it  appeared  in 
none  of  his  public  acts.  But  when  alone,  his  heart  seemed 
to  have  turned  to  lead.  A  cold  languid  hopelessness,  most 
foreign  to  his  high  sanguine  nature,  weighed  him  to  the 
earth,  and  the  Dead  Sea  rolled  over  his  spirit. 

Earnest  Mr.  Hawes  hated  good  Mr.  Eden ;  one  comfort, 
by  means  of  his  influence  with  the  justices  he  could  get  him 
turned  out  of  the  prison.  Meantime  what  could  he  do  to 
spite  him?     Begin  by  punishing  a  prisoner;  that  is  the  onlv 

199 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

thing  that  stings  him.  With  these  good  intentions  earnest 
Hawes  turned  out  and  looked  about  for  a  prisoner  to  punish ; 
unfortunately  for  poor  Josephs,  the  governor's  eye  fell  upon 
him  as  he  came  out  of  the  chapel.  The  next  minute  he  was 
put  on  a  stiff  crank,  which  led  in  due  course  to  the  pillory. 
When  he  had  been  in  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  Hawes 
winked  to  Fry,  and  said  to  him  under  his  breath,  "Let  the 
parson  know." 

Fry  strolled  into  the  prison :  he  met  Mr.  Eden  at  a  cell- 
door."  "Josephs  refractory  again,  sir,"  said  he  with  mock 
civiUty. 

Mr.  Eden  looked  him  in  the  face,  but  said  nothing.  He 
went  to  his  own  room,  took  a  paper  off  the  table,  and  came 
into  the  yard.  Josephs  was  beginning  to  sham,  and  a  bucket 
had  just  been  thrown  over  him  amidst  the  coarse  laughter 
of  Messrs.  Fry,  Hodges,  and  Hawes.  Evans,  who  happened 
to  be  in  attendance,  stood  aloof  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  Mr,  Eden  coming,  Hawes  gave  a  vin- 
dictive chuckle.  "Another  bucket,"  cried  he,  and  taking  it 
himself,  he  contrived  to  sprinkle  Mr.  Eden,  as  well  as  to 
sluice  his  immediate  victim. 

Mr.  Eden  took  no  notice  of  this  impertinence,  but  to  the 
surprise  of  all  there  he  strode  between  the  victim  and  his 
tormentors,  and  said  sternly,  "Do  you  know  that  you  are 
committing  an  illegal  assault  upon  this  prisoner?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Hawes,  with  a  cold  sneer. 

"Then  I  shall  show  you.  Here  are  the  printed  rules  of 
the  prison ;  you  have  no  authority  over  a  prisoner  but  what 
these  rules  give  you.  Now  show  me  where  they  permit  you 
to  pillory  a  prisoner?" 

"They  don't  forbid  it,  that  is  enough." 

"No,  it  is  not;  they  don't  forbid  you  to  hang  him,  or  to 
sear  him  with  a  hot  iron,  but  they  tell  you  in  this  paragraph 
what  punishments  you  may  inflict,  and  that  excludes  all  pun- 
ishments of  your  own  invention.  You  may  neither  hang 
him,  nor  burn  him,  nor  famish  him,  nor  crucify  him ;  all  these 
acts  are  equally  illegal.  So  take  warning,  all  of  you  here — 
you  are  all  servants  of  the  law — don't  let  me  catch  you  as- 
saulting a  prisoner  contrary  to  the  law,  or  you  shall  smart  to 

200 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

the  uttermost.  Evans,  I  command  you,  in  the  name  of  the 
law,  release  that  prisoner." 

Evans,  thus  appealed  to,  fidgeted  and  turned  colour,  and 
his  hands  worked  by  his  side.  "Your  reverence !"  cried  he, 
in  an  imploring  tone,  and  stayed  where  he  was.  On  this  Mr. 
Eden  made  no  more  ado,  but  darted  to  Josephs'  side,  and  be- 
gan to  unfasten  him  with  nimble  fingers. 

Hawes  stood  dumbfounded  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  re- 
covering himself,  he  roared  out — 

"Officers,  do  your  duty !" 

Fry  and  Hodges  advanced  upon  Mr.  Eden,  but,  before  they 
could  get  at  him,  the  huge  body  of  Evans  interposed  itself. 
The  man  was  pale,  but  doggedly  resolved. 

"Mustn't  lay  a  finger  on  his  reverence,"  said  he,  almost  in 
a  whisper,  but  between  his  clenched  teeth,  and  with  the  look 
of  a  bulldog  over  a  bone. 

"What,  do  you  rebel  against  me.  Evans?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Evans,  softening  his  tone,  "but  nobody  must 
affront  his  reverence.  Look  here,  sir ;  his  reverence  knows 
a  great  deal  more  than  I  do,  and  he  says  this  is  against  the 
law.  He  showed  you  the  Act,  and  you  couldn't  answer  him 
except  by  violence,  which  ain't  no  answer  at  all.  Now,  I  am 
a  servant  of  the  law,  and  I  know  better  than  go  against  the 
law." 

"There,  I  want  no  more  of  your  chat ;  loose  the  pris- 
oner." 

"Seems  to  me  he  is  loosed,"  said  Fry. 

"Go  to  the  51b.  crank,  Josephs,  and  let  me  see  how  much 
you  can  do  in  half-an-hour." 

"That  I  will,  your  reverence,"  and  off  he  ran. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Hawes  sternly,  "I  put  up  with  this  now, 
because  it  must  end  next  week.  I  have  written  to  the  visit- 
ing justices,  and  they  will  settle  whether  you  are  to  be  master 
in  the  gaol  or  I." 

"Neither,  Mr.  Hawes.  The  law  shall  be  your  master  and 
mine." 

"Very  good ;  but  there's  a  hole  in  your  coat,  for  as  clever 
as  you  are  every  gaol  has  its  customs  as  well  as  its  rules." 

"Which  customs,  if  illegal,  are  abuses,  and  shall  be  swept 

201  ^*'        cr"L-^''-t 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"I'll  promise  you  one  thing — the  justices  shall  sweep  you 
out  of  the  gaol." 

"How  can  you  promise  that  ?" 

"Because  they  only  see  with  my  eyes,  and  hear  with  my 
ears;  they  would  do  a  great  deal  more  for  me  than  kick  out 
a  refractory  chaplain." 

Mr.  Eden's  eye  flashed,  he  took  out  his  note-book. 

"Present  Fry,  Hodges,  Evans.  Mr.  Hawes  asserts  that 
the  visiting  justices  see  only  with  his  eyes  and  hear  with  his 
ears." 

Hawes  laughed  insolently,  but  a  little  uneasily. 

"In  spite  of  your  statement  that  the  magistrates  are  un- 
worthy of  their  office,  I  venture  to  hope,  for  the  credit  of  the 
county,  there  will  not  be  found  three  magistrates  to  counte- 
nance your  illegal  cruelties.     But  should  there  be " 

"Ay!  what  then?" 

"I  shall  go  higher,  and  appeal  to  the  Home  Secretary." 

"Ha !  ha !     He  won't  take  any  notice  of  you." 

"Then  I  shall  appeal  to  the  Sovereign." 

"And  if  she  takes  you  for  a  madman?" 

"I  shall  appeal  to  the  people.  Oh,  Mr.  Hawes,  I  give  you 
my  honour  this  great  question,  whether  or  not  the  law  can 
penetrate  a  prison,  shall  be  sifted  to  the  bottom.  Pending 
my  appeals  to  the  Home  Office,  the  Sovereign,  and  the  peo- 
ple, I  have  placed  a  thousand  pounds  in  my  solicitor's 
hands " 

"A  thousand  pounds !  have  you,  sir  ?  What  for,  if  I  am 
not  too  curious  ?" 

"For  this,  sir.  Each  prisoner  whom  you  have  pilloried 
and  starved  and  assaulted,  contrary  to  law,  shall  bring  an 
action  of  assault  against  you  the  moment  he  leaves  the  prison. 
He  shall  have  counsel,  and  the  turnkeys  and  myself  shall  be 
subpoenaed  as  evidence.  When  once  we  get  you  into  court 
you  will  find  that  a  prison  is  the  stronghold  of  law,  not  a  den 
of  lawlessness." 

He  then  turned  sharp  on  the  warders. 

"I  warn  you  against  all  your  illegal  practices.  Mr. 
Hawes's  orders  shall  neither  excuse  nor  protect  you :  you 
owe  your  first  obedience  to  the  crown  and  the  law.  Here  are 
your  powers  and  yourduties.     You  can  all  read.     Here  it  is 

202 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

ruled  that  a  prisoner  shall  receive  four  visits  a  day  from  the 
governor,  chaplain,  and  two  turnkeys ;  these  four  visits  are 
to  keep  the  man  from  breaking  down  under  the  separate  and 
silent  system.  You  have  all  been  breaking  this  rule,  but  you 
shall  not.  I  shall  report  you  Evans,  you  Fry,  and  you 
Hodges,  and  you  Mr.  Hawes,  to  the  authorities,  if  after  this 
warning  you  leave  a  single  prisoner  unvisited  and  unspoken 
with." 

"Have  you  done  preaching,  parson?" 

"Not  quite,  gaoler." 

He  tapped  the  printed  paper. 

"Here  is  a  distinct  order  that  sick  prisoners  shall  be  taken 
out  of  their  cells  into  the  infirmary,  a  vast  room  where  they 
have  a  much  better  chance  of  recovering  than  in  those  stink- 
ing cells,  ventilated  scientifically,  i.e.,  not  ventilated  at  all. 
Now  there  are  seven  prisoners  dangerously  ill  at  this  mo- 
ment; yet  you  smother  these  unfortunates  in  their  solitary 
cells,  instead  of  giving  them  the  infirmary  and  nurses  accord- 
ing to  the  law  Let  these  seven  persons  be  in  the  infirmary 
before  post-time  this  evening,  or  to-morrow  I  report  you  to 
the  Secretary  of  State." 

With  these  words  he  went  ofif,  leaving  them  all  looking 
at  one  another. 

"He  is  coming  back  again,"  said  Fry. 

He  did  come  back  again  with  heightened  colour  and  flash- 
ing eyes. 

"Here  is  the  prisoners'  diet,"  cried  he,  tapping  the  printed 
rules ;  "it  is  settled  to  an  ounce  by  law,  and  I  see  no  author- 
rity  given  to  the  gaoler  to  tamper  with  it  under  any  circum- 
stances. Yet  I  find  you  perpetually  robbing  prisoners  of 
their  food.  Don't  let  me  catch  either  gaoler  or  turnkeys  at 
this  again.  Gaolers  and  turnkeys  have  no  more  right  to  steal 
a  prisoner's  food  than  to  rob  the  till  of  the  Bank  of  England. 
He  receives  it  defined  in  bulk  and  quality  from  the  law's  own 
hand,  and  the  wretch  who  will  rob  him  of  an  ounce  of  it  is  a 
felon  without  a  felon's  excuse ;  and  as  a  felon  I  will  proceed 
against  him  by  the  dog-whip  of  the  criminal  law,  by  the  gib- 
bet of  the  public  press,  and  by  every  weapon  that  wit  and 
honesty  have  ever  found  to  scourge  cruelty  and  theft  since 
civilisation  dawned  upon  the  earth." 

203 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

He  was  gone  and  left  them  all  turned  to  statues.  A  right- 
eous man's  wrath  is  far  more  terrible  than  the  short-lived 
passion  of  the  unprincipled.  It  is  rarer,  and  springs  from  a 
deeper  source  than  temper. 

Even  Hawes  staggered  under  this  mortal  defiance  so  fierce 
and  unexpected.  For  a  moment  he  regretted  having  pushed 
matters  so  far. 

This  scene  let  daylight  in  upon  shallow  earnest  Hawes, 
and  showed  him  a  certain  shallow  error  he  had  fallen  into. 
Because  insolence  had  no  earthly  effect  on  the  great  man's 
temper,  he  had  concluded  that  nothing  could  make  him  boil 
over.  A  shade  of  fear  was  now  added  to  rage,  hatred,  and  a 
desire  for  vengeance. 

"Fry,  come  to  my  house." 

Evans  had  a  wife  and  children,  and  these  hostages  to  for- 
tune weighed  down  his  manly  spirit.  He  came  to  Hawes  as 
he  was  going  out  and  said  submissively,  though  not  gra- 
ciously— 

"Very  sorry,  sir,  to  think  I  should  disobey  you,  but  when 
his  reverence  said  it  was  against  the  law " 

"That  is  enough,  my  man,"  replied  Hawes  quietly ;  "he  has 
bewitched  you,  it  seems.  When  he  is  kicked  out,  you  will  be 
my  servant  again,  I  dare  say." 

The  words  and  the  tone  were  not  ill-humoured.  It  was 
not  Hawes's  cue  to  quarrel  with  a  turnkey. 

Evans  looked  suddenly  up,  for  his  mind  was  relieved  by 
Mr.  Hawes's  moderation ;  he  looked  up  and  saw  a  cold  stern 
eye  dwelling  on  him  with  a  meaning  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  words  spoken. 

Small  natures  read  one  another. 

Evans  saw  his  fate  inscribed  in  Hawes's  eye. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

HAWES  and  Fry  sat  in  council.  A  copy  of  the  prison 
rules  was  before  them,  and  the  more  they  looked  at 
them  after  Mr.  Eden's  interpretation  the  less  they  liked 
them ;   they   were  severe  and   simple ;  stringent  against  the 

204 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

prisoners   on    certain   points — stringent    in    their    favour    on 
others. 

"The  sick-list  must  go  to  the  infirmary,  I  beheve,"  said 
Hawes  thoughtfully.  "He'd  beat  us  there.  The  justices  will 
support  me  on  every  other  point,  because  they  must  contra- 
dict themselves  else.  I'll  have  that  fellow  out  of  the  gaol, 
Fry,  before  a  month  is  out;  and  meantime  what  can  I  do  to 
be  revenged  on  him?" 

"Punish  'em  all  the  more,"  suggested  the  simple-minded 
Fry. 

"No,  that  won't  do;  better  keep  a  little  quiet  now  till  he 
is  out  of  the  gaol.  Fine  it  would  look  if  he  was  really  to 
bribe  these  vermin  to  bring  actions  against  me,  and  subpoena 
himself  and  that  sneaking  dog  Evans." 

"Well,  sir,  but  if  you  turn  him  out  he  will  do  it  all  the 
more." 

"You  fool,  can't  you  see  the  difference?  If  he  comes  into 
court  a  servant  of  the  crown,  every  lie  he  tells  will  go  for 
gospel.  But  if  he  comes  a  disgraced  servant  cashiered  for 
refractory  conduct,  why  then  we  could  tell  the  jury  it  is  all 
his  spite  at  being  turned  off." 

"You  know  a  thing  or  two,  sir,"  whined  the  doleful  Fry. 

Hawes  passed  him  a  fresh  tumbler  of  grog,  and  pondered 
deeply  and  anxiously.  But  suddenly  an  idea  flashed  on  him 
that  extinguished  his  other  meditations.  "Give  me  the  rules." 
He  ran  his  eye  rapidly  over  them.  "Why,  no  !  of  course  not ; 
what  a  fool  I  was  not  to  see  that  half-an-hour  ago." 

"What  is  it,  sir?" 

"Finish  your  grog  first,  and  then  I  have  a  job  for  you." 
He  sat  down  and  wrote  two  lines  on  a  slip  of  paper. 

"Have  you  done?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  take  this  order." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  the  printed  rules  in  vour  hand — here,  take  'em." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  take  Hodges  and  Evans  with  you.  and  tell  me  every 
word  that  sneaking  dog  Evans  says  and  everything  he  does." 

"Yes,  sir.     But  what  are  we  all  three  to  do?" 

"Execute  this  order !" 

205 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

An  ebullition  of  wrath  \vas  as  rare  with  Mr.  Eden  as  an 
eruption  of  Vesuvius.  His  deep-rooted  indignation  against 
cruelty  remained ;  it  was  a  part  of  his  nature.  But  his  ruffled 
feathers  smoothed  themselves  the  moment  little  Hawes  and 
Co.  were  out  of  his  eye.  He  even  said  to  himself,  "What  is 
the  matter  with  me  ?  one  moment  so  despondent  the  next  iras- 
cible. I  hardly  know  myself.  I  must  take  a  little  of  my 
antidote."  So  saying,  he  proceeded  to  visit  some  of  those 
cells  into  which  he  had  introduced  rational  labour  (anti-theft 
he  called  it).  Here  he  found  cheerful  looks  as  well  as  busy 
hands.  Here  industry  was  relished  with  a  gusto  inconceiv- 
able to  those  who  have  never  stagnated  body  and  soul  in  en- 
forced solitude  and  silence.  Here  for  the  time  at  least  were 
honest  converts  to  anti-theft.  He  had  seen  them  dull  and 
stupid,  brutalised,  drifting  like  inanimate  bodies  on  the  heavy 
waters  of  the  Dead  Sea.  He  had  drawn  them  ashore  and 
put  life  into  them.  He  had  taught  their  glazed  eyes  to 
sparkle  with  the  stimulus  of  rational  and  interesting  work, 
and  those  same  eyes  rewarded  him  by  beaming  on  him  with 
pleasure  and  gratitude  whenever  he  came.  This  soothed 
and  cheered  his  weary  spirit,  vexed  by  the  wickedness  and 
stupidity  that  surrounded  him  and  obstructed  the  good  work. 

His  female  artisans  gave  him  a  keen  pleasure,  for  here  he 
benefited  a  sex  as  well  as  a  prisoner.  He  had  long  been 
saying  that  women  are  as  capable  as  men  of  a  multitude  of 
handicrafts,  from  which  they  are  excluded  by  man's  jealousy 
and  grandmamma's  imbecility.  And  this  wise  man  hoped  to 
raise  a  few  Englishwomen  to  the  industrial  level  of  French- 
women and  Englishmen ;  not  by  writing  and  prattling  that 
the  sex  are  at  present  men's  equals  in  intelligence  and  energy, 
which  is  a  stupid  falsehood,  calculated  to  keep  them  for  ever 
our  inferiors  by  persuading  them  they  need  climb  no  higher 
than  they  have  climbed. 

His  line  was  very  different.  "At  present  you  are  infinitely 
man's  inferior  in  various  energy,"  said  he.  "Dependants  are 
inferiors  throughout  the  world." 

If  they  were  not  so  at  first  starting,  such  a  relation  would 
make  them  so  in  two  months. 

"Try  and  be  more  than  mere  dependants  on  men,"  was  hi? 
axiom!     "Don't  talk  that  you  are  his  equal,  and  then  open 

206 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

that  eloquent  mouth  to  be  fed  by  his  hand— do  something! 
It  is  by  doing  fifty  useful  and  therefore  lucrative  things 
to  your  one  that  man  becomes  your  creditor,  and  a  creditor 
will  be  a  superior  to  the  world's  end.  Out  of  these  fifty 
things  you  might  have  done  twenty  as  well  as  he  can  do 
them,  and  ten  much  better ;  and  those  thirty,  added  to  the  do- 
mestic duties  in  which  you  do  so  much  more  than  your  share, 
would  go  far  to  balance  the  account  and  equalise  the 
sexes." 

Thus  he  would  sometimes  talk  to  the  more  intelligent  of 
his  hussies ;  but  he  did  a  great  deal  more  than  talk.  He  sup- 
plied from  himself  that  deficiency  of  inventive  power  and 
enterprise  which  is  woman's  w^eak  point ;  and  he  tilled  those 
wide  powers  of  masterly  execution  which  they  possess  un- 
known to  grandpapa  Cant  and  grandmamma  Precedent.  As 
this  clear  head  had  foreseen,  his  women  came  out  artisans. 
The  eye  that  could  thread  a  needle  proved  accurate  enough 
for  anything.  Their  supple  taper  fingers  soon  learned  to  pick 
up  type,  and  place  it  quite  as  quick  as  even  the  stiff  digits  of 
the  male  all  one  size  from  knuckle  to  nail.  The  same  with 
watchmaking,  and  other  trades  reputed  masculine ;  they  beat 
the  men's  heads  off  at  learning  many  kinds  of  finger-work 
new  to  both ;  their  singular  patience  stood  them  in  good  stead 
here;  they  undermined  difficulties  that  the  males  tried  to  jump 
over  and  fell  prostrate. 

A  great  treat  was  in  store ;  one  of  the  fruit-trees  he  had 

planted  in  the  huge  fallow  of  Gaol,  was  to  be  shaken 

this  afternoon.  Two  or  three  well-disposed  prisoners  had 
been  set  to  review  their  past  lives  candidly,  and  to  relate  them 
simply,  with  reflections.  Of  these  ]\Ir.  Eden  cut  out  every 
one  which  had  been  put  in  to  please  him,  retaining  such  as 
were  sober  and  seemed  genuine  to  his  lynx  eye. 

Mr.  Eden  knew  that  some  men  and  women  listen  more  to 
their  fellows  than  their  superiors — to  the  experiences  and 
sentiments  of  those  who  are  in  their  own  situation,  than  to 
those  who  stand  higher  but  farther  away.  He  had  found  out 
that  a  bad  man's  life  honestly  told  is  a  beacon.  So  he  set 
"roguery  teaching  by  examples." 

There  were  three  male  narratives  in  the  press,  and  two 
female.     For  a  day  or  two  past,  the  printers   (all  women) 

207 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

had  been  setting  up  the  type,  and  now  the  sheets  were  to  be 
struck  off. 

There  was  no  Uttle  expectation  among  the  prisoners.  They 
were  curious  to  see  their  compeers  in  print,  and  to  learn  their 
stories,  and  see  how  they  would  tell  them;  and  as  for  the 
writers,  their  bodies  were  immured,  but  their  minds  fluttered 
about  on  tip-toe  round  the  great  engine  of  pviblicity,  as  the 
author  of  the  "Novum  Organon"  fluttered  when  he  first  went 
into  print,  and  as  the  future  authoress  of  "Lives  and  Careers 
of  Infants  in  Arms"  will  flutter. 

The  press  stood  in  the  female-governor's  room.  One  she- 
artisan,  duly  taught  before,  inked  the  type,  and  put  in  a  blank 
sheet. 

No.  2  pulled  the  bar  of  the  press  towards  her,  and  at  the 
moment  of  contact  threw  herself  back  with  sudden  vigour, 
and  gave  the  telling  knip ;  the  types  were  again  covered  with 
ink,  the  sheets  reversed,  and  No.  3  (one  of  the  writers) 
drew  out  a  printed  sheet — two  copies  of  two  stories  com- 
plete. 

"Oh !  oh !  oh !"  cried  No.  3,  flushing  with  surprise  and 
admiration,  "how  beautiful !  See,  your  reverence,  here  is 
mine — 'Life  of  an  Unfortunate  Girl.'  " 

"Yes,  I  see  it.  And  pray,  what  do  you  mean  by  an  un- 
fortunate girl?" — "Oh,  sir!  you  know." 

"Unfortunate  means  one  whom  we  are  bound  to  respect  as 
well  as  pity.     Has  that  been  your  character?" 

"No,"  was  the  mournful  reply. 

"Then  why  print  a  falsehood?  Falsehoods  lurk  in  adjec- 
tives as  well  as  substantives.  Misapplied  terms  are  strong- 
holds of  self-deception.  Nobody  says  T  am  unfortunate, 
therefore  I  abhor  myself  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes.'  Such 
words  are  fortifications  to  keep  self-knowledge  and  its  broth- 
er repentance  from  the  soul." 

"Oh,  sir!  what  am  I  to  call  myself?"  She  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

"My  dear,  you  told  me  a  week  ago  you  were — a  penitent." 

"So  I  am,  indeed  I  am.  Sir,  may  I  change  it  to  'a  peni- 
tent girl  ?'  " 

"You  would  make  me  very  happy  if  you  could  do  it  with 
truth." 

208 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Then  I  can,  indeed  I  can."  And  she  took  out  "an  un- 
fortunate," and  put  in  "a  penitent." 

"There,"  said  she,  glowing  with  exultation  and  satisfac- 
tion, "  'Life  of  a  Penitent  Girl.'  " 

Oh,  it  was  a  pretty  sight !  Their  little  hearts  were  all  in  it. 
Their  little  spirits  rose  visibly  as  the  work  went  on— ^-such 
beaming  eyes — such  glowing  cheeks,  and  innocent  looks  of 
sparkling  triumph  to  their  friend  and  father,  who  smiled  back 
like  Jupiter,  and  quizzings  of  each  other  to  stimulate  to  great- 
er speed. 

In  went  the  sheets,  on  went  the  press,  out  came  the  tales, 
up  grew  the  pile,  amidst  quips  and  cranks  and  rays  of  silver- 
toned  laughter,  social  labour's  natural  music.  They  were  all 
so  innocent  and  so  happy,  when  the  door  was  unceremonious- 
ly opened,  and  in  burst  Fry  and  Hodges,  followed  by  Evans 
crawling  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

The  workwomen  looked  astonished,  but  did  not  interrupt 
their  work.  Fry  came  up  to  Mr.  Eden,  and  gave  him  a  slip 
of  paper  on  which  Hawes  had  written  an  order  that  all  work 
not  expressly  authorised  by  the  law  should  be  expelled  from 
the  gaol  on  the  instant. 

Mr,  Eden  perused  the  order,  and  the  colour  rose  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  By  way  of  comment.  Fry  put  the  prison- 
rules  under  his  eye. 

"Anything  about  printing,  or  weaving,  or  watchmaking  in 
these  rules,  sir?" 

Mr.  Eden  was  silent. 

"Perhaps  you  will  cast  your  eye  over  'em  and  see,  sir," 
continued  Fry  slily.  "Shouldn't  like  to  ofifend  the  law 
again." 

Mr.  Eden  took  the  paper,  but  not  to  read  it — he  knew  it  by 
heart.  It  was  to  hide  his  anguish  from  the  enemy.  Hawes 
had  felled  him  with  his  own  weapon.  He  put  down  the  pa- 
per and  showed  his  face,  which  was  now  stern  and  composed. 

"What  we  are  doing  is  against  the  letter  of  the  law,  as  youi 
pillory  and  your  starvation  of  prisoners  are  against  both  let- 
ter and  spirit.  Mr.  Hawes  shall  find  no  excuse  for  his  ille- 
gal practices  in  any  act  of  mine." 

He  then  turned  to  the  artisans.  "Girls,  you  must  leave  off." 

"Leave  off,  sir?"  cried  No.  3  faintly. 

^*  209 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"Yes ;  no  words.  Obey  the  prison-rules.  They  do  not 
allow  it." 

"Come,  my  birds,"  shouted  Hodges  roughly  to  the  women. 
"Stand  clear,  we  want  this  gear." 

"What  do  you  want  of  it,  Mr.  Hodges?" 

"Only  to  put  it  outside  the  prison-gate,  sir.  That  is  the 
order." 

The  printing-press — representative  of  knowledge,  enemy  of 
darkness,  stupidity,  cruelty,  organ  of  civilisation — was  igno- 
miniously  thrust  to  the  door. 

This  feat  performed,  they  went  to  attack  anti-theft. 

"Will  you  come  along  with  us,  sir,  to  see  it  is  all  legal?" 
sneered  Fry. 

"I  will  come  to  see  that  insolence  is  not  added  to 
cruelty." 

At  the  door  of  Mary  Baker's  cell  Mr.  Eden  hung  back  as 
Hodges  and  Fry  passed  in.  At  last  after  a  struggle  he  en- 
tered the  cell.  The  turnkeys  had  gathered  up  the  girl's  work 
and  tools,  and  were  coming  out  with  them,  whilst  the  artisan 
stood  desolate  in  the  middle  of  the  cell. 

"Oh,  sir,"  cried  she  to  Mr.  Eden,  "I  am  glad  you  are  here. 
These  blackguards  have  broken  into  my  cell,  and  they  are 
robbing  it." 

"Hush,  Mary ;  what  they  are  doing  is  the  law,  and  we  were 
acting  against  the  law." 

"Were  we,  sir?" — "Yes;  it  is  a  bad  law,  and  will  be 
changed,  but  till  it  is  changed  we  must  obey  it.  You  are 
only  one  victim  among  many.  Be  patient,  and  pray  for  help 
to  bear  it." 

"Yes,  your  reverence.  Are  they  all  to  be  robbed  of  their 
tools?"— "All!" 

"Poor  things !"  said  Mary  Baker. 

"Evans,  it  is  beyond  my  strength — I  am  but  a  man ;  I  can 
bear  even  this,  but  I  can't  bear  to  see  it  done.  I  can't  bear 
it !     I  can't  bear  it !" 

And  his  reverence  turned  his  back  on  the  moral  butchers, 
and  crept  away  to  his  own  room.  There  he  sank  into  a  chair, 
and  laid  his  brow  upon  the  table,  with  his  hands  stretched 
out  before  him,  and  his  whole  frame  trembling  most  pite- 
ously. 

2IO 


D 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Eden  and  Hawes  are  not  level  antagonists — one  takes 
things  to  heart,  the  other  to  temper. 

In  this  bitter  hour  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  he 
could  ever  counteract  the  pernicious  Hawes. 

"There  is  but  one  chance  left  for  these  poor  souls.  I  shall 
try  it,  and  it  will  fail.  Well,  let  it  fail !  Were  there  a  thou- 
sand more  chances  against  me  than  there  are,  I  must  battle 
to  the  last.  Let  me  mature  my  plan ;"  and  he  fell  into  a  sad 
but  stern  reverie. 

He  lay  thus  crushed,  though  not  defeated,  more  than  two 
hours  in  silence.  Had  Hawes  seen  him,  he  would  have  ex- 
ulted at  his  appearance. 

"A  man  from  the  gaol  to  speak  to  you,  sir." 

A  heavy  rap  at  the  parlour  door,  and  Evans  came  in  sheep- 
ishly smoothing  down  his  hair,  Mr.  Eden  turned  his  head 
as  he  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  motioned  him  to  a  seat. 

'T  couldn't  sleep  till  I  had  spoken  to  you.  I  obeyed  your 
orders,  sir ;  we  have  undone  your  work." 

"How  did  the  poor  souls  bear  it?" 

"Some  cried,  some  abused  us,  one  or  two  showed  they  were 
better  than  we  are." 

"How?" 

"They  prayed  Heaven  to  forgive  us,  and  hoped  we  might 
never  come  to  know  what  they  felt.  I  wish  I'd  never  seen 
the  inside  of  a  gaol.  Frv  got  a  scratched  face  in  one  cell, 
sir." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  I  shall  have  to  scold  her.  Who 
was  it?" — "You  won't  scold  her;  you  won't  have  the  heart." 

"I  will  scold  her  whether  I  have  the  heart  or  not.  Who 
was  it?" 

"No.  57,  a  gal  that  had  some  caterpillars." 

"Silkworms !" 

"Yes,  sir,  silkworms ;  and  it  seems  she  has  got  to  be  un- 
common fond  of  them — calls  'em  her  children,  poor  soul. 
When  we  came  in,  and  went  to  take  them  away,  she  stood  up 
for  'em,  and  said  we  had  no  right — his  reverence  gave  them 
her." 

"Well?" — "Well,  sir,  of  course  they  made  short  work,  and 
took  them  away  by  force.  Then  I  saw  the  girl  turn  white, 
and  her  eye  getting  wildish.     However,  I  don't  know  as  it 

211 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND" 

would  have  come  to  anything,  but,  with  them  snatching  away 
the  leaves  and  the  grubs,  one  of  them  fell  on  the  ground. 
The  poor  girl  she  goes  to  lift  it  up,  and  Fry  he  sees  her,  and 
put  his  foot  on  it  before  she  could  get  to  it." 

"Ah !" 

"I  daresay  he  didn't  stop  to  think,  you  know;  but  I  don't 
envy  him  having  done  it.  Well,  sir,  he  paid  for  it.  The 
girl  just  gave  one  sort  of  a  yell — you  could  not  call  it  any- 
thing else — and  she  went  right  at  his  head,  both  claws  going, 
and  as  quick  one  after  another  as  a  cat.  The  blood  squirted 
like  a  fountain — I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  She'd  have 
killed  him  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Hodges  and  me." 

"Killed  him?  nonsense — a  great  strong  fellow!" 

"No  nonsense  at  all,  sir.  She  was  stronger  than  he  was 
for  a  moment  or  two^  and  that  moment  would  have  done  his 
business.  She  meant  killing.  Sir,"  said  Evens,  lowering  his 
voice,  "her  teeth  were  making  for  his  jugular  when  I 
wrenched  her  away,  and  it  was  like  tearing  soul  from  body  to 
get  her  off  him,  and  she  snarling  and  her  teeth  gnashing  for 
him  all  the  time." 

Mr.  Eden  winced. 

"The  wretched  creature !  I  was  putting  her  on  the  way  to 
heaven,  and  in  one  moment  they  made  a  fiend  of  her.  Evans, 
you  are  not  the  same  man  you  were  a  month  ago." 

"No,  sir,  that  I  am  not.  When  I  think  of  what  a  brute  I 
used  to  be  to  them  poor  creatures,  I  don't  seem  to  know 
myself." 

"What  has  changed  you?" — "Oh,  you  know  very 
well." 

"Do  I  ?     No ;  I  have  a  guess  ;  but " 

"Why,  your  sermons,  to  be  sure." 

"My  sermons  ?" — "Yes,  sir.  Why,  how  could  I  hear  them 
and  my  heart  be  as  hard  as  it  used?  They  would  soften  a 
stone." 

A  faint  streak  of  surprise  and  simple  satisfaction  crossed 
Mr.  Eden's  sallow  face. 

"But  it  isn't  your  sermons  only — it  is  your  life,  as  the 
saying  is.  I  was  no  better  than  Hawes  and  Fry,  and  the 
rest.  I  used  to  look  on  a  prisoner  as  so  much  dirt.  But 
when   I  saw  a  gentleman  like  you   respect  them,  and  say 

212 


I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

openly  you  loved  them,  I  began  to  take  a  thought,  and  says 
I,  Hallo !  if  his  reverence  respects  them  so,  an  ignorant  brute 
like  Jack  Evans  isn't  to  look  down  on  them." 

"Ah !  confess  too  that  half-hour  in  the  jacket  opened  your 
eyes  and  so  your  heart." 

"It  did.  sir — it  did.  I  was  like  a  good  many  more  that 
misuse  prisoners.     I  didn't  know  how  cruel  I  was." 

"You  are  on  my  side,  then?" — "Yes,  I  am  on  your  side, 
and  I  am  come  here  mainly  to  speak  my  mind  to  you.  Sir, 
it  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you  lost  and  wasted  in  such  a  place 
as  this." 

"You  think  I  do  no  good  here?" 

"No!  no!  sir.  Why,  I  am  a  proof  the  other  way.  But 
you  would  do  more  good  anywhere  else.  Everybody  says 
you  are  a  bright  and  a  shining  light,  sir.  Then  why  stay 
where  there  is  dirty  water  thrown  over  you  every  day?  Be- 
sides, it  is  killing  you !  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,  sir,  but 
if  you  could  only  see  how  you  are  changed  since  you  came 
here." 

"I  do  feel  very  ill." 

"Of  course  you  do ;  you  are  ill,  and  you  will  be  worse  if 
you  don't  get  out  of  this  dreadful  place.  If  you  are  so  fond 
of  prisons,  sir,  you  can  go  from  here  to  another  prison. 
There  is  more  than  one  easy-going  chaplain  as  would  be  glad 
to  change  with  you." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  IMr.  Eden  faintly,  lying  on  his 
back  on  the  sofa. 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it.  If  it  warn't  for  Hawes  you  would 
convert  half  this  prison;  but  you  see  the  governor  is  against 
you,  and  he  is  stronger  than  you.  So  it  is  no  good  to  go 
wasting  yourself.  Now  what  will  be  the  upshot?  Why, 
you'll  break  your  heart  to  begin,  and  lose  your  health ;  and 
when  all  is  done,  at  a  word  from  Hawes  the  justices  will  turn 
you  out  of  the  gaol — and  send  me  after  you  for  taking  your 
part." 

"What  do  you  advise?"— "Whv,  cut  it." 

"Cut  it?" 

"Turn  your  back  on  the  whole  ignorant  lot,  and  save  your- 
self for  better  things.  Why,  you  will  win  many  a  battle  yet, 
your  reverence,  if  you  don't  fling  yourself  away  this  time," 

213 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

said  Evans  in  tones  of  homely  cheerfulness  and  encourage- 
ment. 

There  was  a  deal  of  good  sense  in  the  rough  fellow's 
words,  and  a  homely  sympathy  not  intruded,  but  rather  as  it 
were  forcing  its  way  against  the  speaker's  intention.  All 
this  co-operated  powerfully  with  Mr.  Eden's  present  inclina- 
tion and  feeling  as  he  lay  sick  and  despondent  upon  the 
couch. 

"So  that  is  really  your  advice?"  inquired  Mr.  Eden  feebly 
and  regretfully. — "Yes,  your  reverence,  that  is  my  advice." 

Mr.  Eden  rose  in  a  moment  like  an  elastic  spring,  and 
whirled  round  in  front  of  Evans.  "And  this  is  my  answer — 
Retro  Satanas  !"  shouted  he,  with  two  eyes  flashing  like  a 
pair  of  sabres  in  the  sun. 

"Mercy  on  us,"  roared  Evans,  recoiHng  so  hastily  that  he 
rolled  over  a  chair,  "what  is  that?"  and  he  sat  upon  the  floor 
a  long  way  off,  with  eyes  like  saucers,  and  repeated  in  a  whis- 
per, "What  is  that?" 

"A  quotation,"  replied  the  other  grimly. 

"A  quotation !  now  only  think  of  that,"  said  Evans, 
much  relieved.  "Sounded  like  cussing  and  swearing  in 
Latin." 

"Come  here,  my  good  friend,  and  sit  beside  me." 

Evans  came  gingerly. 

"Well,  but  ye  mustn't  thunder  at  me  in  Latin  any  more." 

"Well,  I  won't." 

"It  isn't  fair ;  how  can  I  stand  up  against  Latin  ?" 

"Well,  come  here  and  I'll  have  at  you  in  the  vulgar  tongue. 
Aha !  So  you  come  in  robust  health  and  spirits  and  tempt  a 
poor  broken  sick  creature  to  mount  the  white  feather;  to 
show  his  soldierly  qualities  by  running  from  the  foe  to  some 
cool  spot  where  there  are  no  enemies,  and  there  fighting  the 
good  fight  in  peace.  Evans,  you  are  a  good  creature,  but 
you  are  a  poor  creature.  Yes,  Hawes  is  strong,  yet  I  will 
resist  him.  And  I  am  weak — yet  I  will  resist.  He  will  get 
the  justices  on  his  side — yet  I  will  resist.  I  am  sick  and  dis- 
pirited— yet  I  will  resist.  The  representative  of  humanity 
and  Christianity  in  a  stronghold  of  darkness  and  cruelty  and 
wrong  must  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake  with  fear.  I 
will  fight  with  pen  and  hand  and  tongue  against  these  out- 

214 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

laws,  so  long  as  there  is  a  puff  of  wind  in  my  body,  and  a 
drop  of  indomitable  blood  in  my  veins." 

"No  doubt  you  are  game  enough,"  mourned  Evans ;  "I 
wish  you  wern't." 

"And  as  for  you,  you  came  here  to  seduce  a  sick  broken 
creature  from  his  Master's  service ;  you  shall  remain  to  be 
enlisted  in  it  yourself  instead." 

Evans  shuffled  uneasily  on  his  chair  at  these  words :  "I 
think  I  am  on  your  side,"  said  he. 

"Half !  but  it  is  no  use  being  half  anything ;  your  hour  is 
come;  choose  between  all  right  and  all  wrong." 

"I  wouldn't  be  long  choosing  if  it  warn't  for  one  thing." 

"And  what  is  that  one  thing  which  can  outweigh  the  one 
thing  needful  ?" 

"My  wife  and  my  four  children ;  if  I  get  myself  turned  out 
of  this  gaol,  how  am  I  to  find  bread  for  that  small  lot  ?" 

"And  do  you  think  shilly-shallying  between  two  stools  will 
secure  your  seat?  You  have  gone  too  far  with  me  to  re- 
tract. Don't  you  see  that  the  gaoler  means  to  get  you  dis- 
missed the  next  time  the  justices  visit  the  gaol  for  business? 
Can't  you  read  your  fate  in  the  man's  eye?" 

Evans  groaned.  "I  read  it,  I  read  it,  but  I  didn't  want  to 
believe  it." 

"He  set  a  trap  for  you  half  an  hour  after  you  had  de- 
fended me." 

"He  did!  I  told  my  wife  I  was  a  gone  coon,  but  she  over- 
persuaded  me ;  'Keep  quiet,'  said  she,  'and  'twill  blow  over.' 
But  you  see  it  in  the  same  light  as  I  did,  don't  you,  sir?" 

Mr.  Eden  smiled  grimly  in  assent. 

"You  are  a  doomed  man,"  said  he  coolly ;  "half  measures 
can't  save  you,  but  whole  measures  may — perhaps." 

"What  is  to  be  done,  sir  ?"  asked  Evans  helplessly. 

"Your  only  chance  is  to  go  heart  and  hand  with  me  in  the 
project  which  occupies  me  now." 

"I  will,  sir,"  cried  Fluctuans  with  a  sudden  burst  of  reso- 
lution, "for  I'm  druv  in  a  corner.  So  please  tell  me  what  is 
your  project?" 

"To  get  Mr.  Hawes  dismissed  from  this  gaol." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  the  reverend  gentleman  had  a 
severe   spasm  which   forced  him   to   lie  back   and   draw   his 

215 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

breath  hard.  Evans  uttered  something  between  a  cry  of  dis- 
may and  a  groan  of  despair,  and  stared  down  upon  this  au- 
dacious invaUd  with  wonder  and  ire  at  his  supernatural  but 
absurd  cool  courage. 

"Turn  our  governor  out  of  this  gaol  ?  Now  hark  to  that ! 
You  might  as  well  try  to  move  a  mountain ;  and  look  at  you 
lying  there  scarce  able  to  move  yourself,  and  talking  like 
that." 

"Pour  me  out  a  cup  of  tea,  Mr.  Faintheart;  I  am  in  great 
pain.     Thank  you !" 

He  took  the  cup,  and  as  he  stirred  it  he  said  coolly,  "Did 
you  ever  read  of  Marshal  Saxe,  Mr.  Faintheart  ?  He  fought 
the  battle  of  Fontenoy  as  he  lay  a  dying.  He  had  himself 
carried  on  his  bed  of  death  from  one  part  of  the  field  to 
another;  at  first  the  fight  went  against  him,  but  he  spurned 
craven  counsels  with  his  expiring  heart ;  he  saw  the  enemy's 
blunder  with  his  dying  eye,  and  waved  his  troops  on  to  vic- 
tory with  his  dying  hand.  This  is  one  of  the  great  feats  of 
earth.  But  the  soldiers  of  Christ  are  as  stout-hearted  as  any 
man  that  ever  carried  a  marshal's  baton  or  a  sergeant's  pike. 
Yes !  I  am  ill,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were  dying,  Evans ;  but  liv- 
ing or  dying  I  am  the  Lord's.  I  will  fight  for  Him  to  the 
last  gasp,  and  I  will  thrust  this  malefactor  from  his  high 
office  with  the  last  action  of  my  hand.  Will  you  help  me,  or 
will  you  not?" 

"I  will,  sir !     I  will !     What  on  earth  can  I  do  ?" 

"You  can  turn  the  balanced  scale  and  win  the  day." 

"Can  I,  sir?"  cried  Evans,  greatly  puzzled. 

"You  will  find  some  wine  in  that  cupboard,  my  man ;  fill 
yourself  a  tumbler;  I  will  sip  my  tea  and  explain  myself. 
You  think  this  Hawes  is  a  mountain ;  no !  he  is  a  large  pump- 
kin hollow  at  the  core.  You  think  him  strong;  no!  he  but 
seems  so,  because  some  of  the  many  at  whose  mercy  he  is  are 
so  v^eak.  There  is  a  flaw  in  Hawes  which  must  break  him 
sooner  or  later.  He  is  a  felon.  The  law  hangs  over  his  head 
by  a  single  hair ;  he  has  forfeited  his  office,  and  will  be  turned 
out  of  it  the  moment  we  can  find  among  his  many  superiors 
one  man  with  one  grain  either  of  honesty  or  intelligence." 

"But  how  shall  we  find  that,  sir?" 

"By  looking  for  it  everywhere  till  we  find  it  somewhere. 

216 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Hawes  tells  me  in  other  words  that  the  visiting  justices 
do  not  possess  the  one  grain  we  require.  I  profit  by  the  in- 
telligence the  enemy  was  weak  enough  to  give  me,  and  I  go — 
not  to  the  visiting  justices.  To-morrow,  if  my  case  is  ready, 
I  send  a  memorial  to  the  Home  Office,  accuse  Hawes  of  felo- 
nious practices,  and  demand  an  inquiry." 

Evans's  eye  sparkled ;  he  began  to  gather  strength  from 
the  broken  man. 

"But  now  comes  the  difficulty.  A  man  should  never  strike 
a  feeble  blow.  My  appeal  will  be  read  by  half-educated 
clerks.  If  I  don't  advance  something  that  the  small  official 
mind  can  take  in,  I  shall  never  reach  the  heads  of  the  Office. 
It  would  be  madness  to  begin  by  attacking  national  preju- 
dices, by  combating  a  notion  so  stupid,  and  therefore  so  deep- 
rooted,  as  that  prisoners  have  no  legal  rights.  No ;  the  pivot 
of  my  assault  must  be  something  that  a  boy  can  afford  to  be 
able  to  comprehend  for  eighty  pounds  a  year  and  a  clerk's 
desk  in  a  Government  office.  Now  Mr.  Hawes  has,  for 
many  months  past,  furnished  false  reports  to  the  justices  and 
to  the  Home  Office.  Here  is  the  true  stepping  stone  to  an 
inquiry,  here  is  the  fact  to  tell  on  the  official  mind ;  for  the 
man's  cruelty  and  felonious  practices  are  only  offences 
against  God  and  the  law ;  but  a  false  report  is  an  offence 
against  the  Office.  And  here  I  need  your  help." 
"You  shall  have  it,  sir." 

"I  want  to  be  able  to  prove  this  man's  reports  to  be  lies ;  I 
think  such  a  proof  exists,"  said  Mr.  Eden  very  thoughtfully. 
"Now,  if  it  does,  you  alone  can  get  hold  of  it  for  me.     One 
of  the  turnkeys  notes  down  every  punishment  of  a  prisoner  in 
a  small  pocket-book,  for  I  have  seen  him." 
"Yes,  sir;  Fry  does — ^never  misses." 
"What  becomes  of  those  notes  ?" — "I  don't  know." 
"What  if  he  keeps  a  book  and  enters  everything  in  it?" 
"But   if   he   had,    shouldn't    we   have   caught    a    glimpse 
of  it?" 

"Humph !  A  man  does  not  take  notes  constantly,  and 
destroy  them.  Fry  too  is  an  enthusiast  in  his  way ;  I  am  sure 
he  keeps  a  record,  and  if  he  does,  it  is  a  true  one,  for  he  has 
no  object  in  tampering  with  his  own  facts.  Bring  me  such  a 
book  or  any  record  kept  by  Fry ;  let  me  have  it  for  twelve 

217 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

hours,  and  Hawes  shall  be  turned  out  of  the  gaol  and  you 
stay  in  it." 

"Sir !"  cried  Evans  in  great  excitement,  "if  there  is  such  a 
thing  you  shall  see  it  to-morrow  morning." 

"No !  to-night !  Come,  you  have  an  hour  before  you.  Do 
you  want  the  sinews  of  war?  Here,  take  this  five  pounds 
with  you ;  you  may  have  to  buy  a  sight  of  it ;  but  if  you  ask 
him  whether  I  am  right  in  telling  you  it  is  not  the  custom  of 
gaols  to  crucify  prisoners  in  the  present  century,  perhaps  the 
barbarian  will  produce  his  record  of  abuses  to  prove  to  you 
that  it  is.  Work  how  you  please ;  but  be  wary — be  intelli- 
gent, and  bring  me  Fry's  ledger — or  never  look  me  in  the 
face  again." 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  Evans  strode  out  of  the  room,  ani- 
mated with  a  spirit  not  his  own.  He  who  had  animated  him 
lay  back  on  the  sofa  prostrated.  Half  an  hour  elapsed,  no 
Evans ;  a  quarter  of  an  hour  more,  still  no  Evans ;  but  just 
before  the  hour  struck,  in  he  burst  out  of  breath,  but  red  with 
triumph. 

"Your  reverence  is  a  witch — you  can  see  in  the  dark — look 
here,  sir !"  and  he  flung  a  dirty  ledger  on  the  table,  "Here's 
all  the  money,  sir.  He  did  not  get  a  farthing  of  it.  I  flat- 
tered the  creature's  pride,  and  he  dropped  the  cheese  into 
my  hand  like  the  old  carrion  crow  when  they  asked  him  for 
one  of  his  charming  songs.  But  he  had  no  notion  it  was 
going  out  of  the  gaol ;  so  you'll  bring  it  in  and  give  it  me 
back  the  first  thing  to-morrow,  sir.  I  must  run  back — time's 
up !  Good-night,  your  reverence.  Am  I  on  your  side,  or 
whose?" 

"Good-night,  my  fine  fellow;  you  shan't  be  turned  out  of 
the  gaol  now.     Good-night." 

He  wanted  him  gone.  He  went  to  a  drawer  and  took  out 
his  own  book,  a  copy  of  Hawes's  public  log-book,  which  he 
had  made  as  soon  as  he  came  into  the  gaol  with  the  simple 
view  of  guiding  himself  by  the  respectable  precedents  he 
innocently  expected  to  find  there.  He  lighted  candles,  placed 
his  sheets  by  the  side  of  Fry's  well-thumbed  ledger,  and 
plunged  into  a  comparison. 

It  was  as  he  expected.  On  one  side  lay  the  bare,  simple 
brutal  truth  in  Fry's  hand,  on  the  other  the  same  set  of  facts 

2i8 


I 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

coloured,  moulded,  and  cooked  in  every  imaginable  way  to 
bear  inspection,  with  occasional  suppressions  where  the  deed 
and  consequences  were  too  frightful  to  bear  colouring, 
moulding,  extenuating,  or  cooking. 

The  book  was  a  thick  quarto,  containing  a  strict  record  of 
the  prison  for  four  years ;  two  years  of  Captain  O'Connor, 
and  two  of  Hawes,  the  worthy  who  had  supplanted  him. 

Mr.  Eden  was  a  rapid  penman ;  he  set  to,  and  by  half-past 
eleven  o'clock  he  had  copied  the  first  part ;  for  under  O'Con- 
nor there  were  comparatively  few  punishments.  Then  he 
attacked  Hawes's  reign.  Sheet  after  sheet  was  filled  and 
numbered.  He  threw  them  on  another  table  as  each  was 
filled.  Three  o'clock ;  still  he  wrote  with  all  his  might.  Four 
o'clock ;  black  spots  danced  before  his  eyes,  and  his  fingers 
ached,  and  his  brow  burned,  and  his  feet  were  ice.  Still  the 
light  indefatigable  pen  galloped  along  the  paper.  Meantime 
the  writer's  feelings  were  of  the  most  mixed  and  extraor- 
dinary character.  Often  his  eye  flashed  with  triumph,  as  Fry 
exposed  the  dishonesty  and  utter  mendacity  of  Hawes. 
Oftener  still  it  dilated  with  horror  at  the  frightful  nature  of 
the  very  revelations.  At  six  o'clock  Fry's  record  was  all 
copied  out. 

Mr.  Eden  shaved  and  took  his  bath,  and  ran  into  the  town. 
He  knocked  up  a  solicitor  with  whom  he   was  acquainted. 

"I  want  you  to  make  my  will,  while  your  son  attests  this 
copy  in  this  ledger." 

"But  my  son  is  in  bed." 

"Well,  he  can  read  in  bed.     Which  is  his  room  ?" 

"That  one." — Rap!     (Come  in.) 

"Here,  Mr.  Edward,  compare  these  two,  and  correct  or  at- 
test this  as  a  true  copy — Twenty  minutes'  work — Two 
guineas ;  here  they  are  on  your  drawers ;"  and  he  chucked 
the  documents  on  the  bed,  opened  the  shutters,  and  drew  the 
hed-curtains ;  and  passing  his  arm  under  the  father's,  he  drew 
him  into  his  own  office,  opened  the  shutters,  put  paper  before 
him,  and  dictated  a  will.  Three  bequests  (one  to  Evans), 
and  his  mother  residuary  legatee.  The  will  written,  he  ran 
upstairs,  made  father  and  son  execute  it,  and  then  darted  out, 
caught  a  fly  that  was  going  to  the  railway,  engaged  it ;  up- 
stairs again.     The  work  was  done,  copy  attested. 

219 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Half-a-crown  if  you  are  at  the  gaol  in  five  minutes." 

Galloped  off  with  his  two  documents — entered  the  gaol- 
went  to  his  own  room — sent  for  Evans — gave  him  Fry's 
book,  and  ordered  himself  the  same  breakfast  the  prisoners 
had. 

"I  am  bilious,  and  no  wonder.  I  have  been  living  too 
luxuriously;  if  I  had  been  content  with  the  diet  my  poor 
brothers  live  on,  I  should  be  in  better  health ;  it  serves  me 
just  right." 

Then  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  short  memorial  to  the  Secre- 
tary for  the  Home  Department,  claiming  an  inquiry  into  the 
gaoler's  conduct. 

"I  have  evidence  on  the  spot  to  show  that  for  two  years 
he  has  been  guilty  of  illegal  practices.  That  he  has  intro- 
duced into  the  prison  an  unlawful  instrument  of  torture. 
That  during  his  whole  period  of  office  he  has  fabricated  par- 
tial, coloured,  and  false  reports  of  his  actions  in  the  prison, 
and  also  of  their  consequences ;  that  he  has  suppressed  all 
mention  of  no  less  than  seven  attempts  at  suicide,  and  has 
given  a  false  colour,  both  with  respect  to  the  place  of  death, 
the  manner  of  death,  and  the  causes  of  death  of  some  twenty 
prisoners  besides.  That  his  day-book,  kept  in  the  prison  for 
the  inspection  and  guide  of  the  magistrates,  is  a  tissue  of 
frauds,  equivocations,  exaggerations,  diminutions,  and  direct 
falsehoods ;  that  his  periodical  reports  to  the  Home  Office  are 
a  tissue  of  the  same  frauds,  suppressions,  inventions,  and  di- 
rect falsehoods. 

"The  truth,  therefore,  is  inaccessible  to  you  except  by  a 
severe  inquiry  conducted  on  the  spot.  That  inquiry  I  pray 
for  on  public  grounds,  and,  if  need  be,  demand  in  my 
own  person,  as  Her  Majesty's  servant  driven  to  this 
strait — 

"I  am  responsible  to  Her  Majesty  for  the  lives  and  well- 
being  of  the  prisoners,  and  yet  unable,  without  your  inter- 
vention, to  protect  them  against  illegal  violence  covered  by 
organised  fraud." 

Mr.  Eden  copied  this,  and  sent  the  copy  at  once  to  Mr. 
Hawes,  with  two  lines  to  this  effect,  that  the  duplicate  should 
not  leave  the  town  till  seven  in  the  evening,  so  Mr.  Hawes 
had  plenty  of  time  to  write  to  the  Home  Secretary  by  same 

220 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

post,  and  parry  or  meet  this  blow  if  he  thought  it  worth  his 
while. 

It  now  remained  only  to  post  the  duplicate  for  the  Home 
Office.  Mr.  Eden  directed  it  and  waxed  it,  but  even  as  he 
leaned  over  it  sealing  it,  the  room  became  suddenly  dark  to 
him,  and  his  head  seemed  to  weigh  a  ton.  With  an  instinct 
of  self-preservation  he  made  for  the  sofa,  which  was  close 
behind  him,  but  before  he  could  reach  it  his  senses  had  left 
him,  and  he  fell  with  his  head  and  shoulders  upon  the  couch, 
but  his  feet  on  the  floor,  the  memorial  tight  in  his  hand.  He 
paid  the  penalty  of  being  a  blood-horse — he  ran  till  he 
dropped. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

'/  I  ^WO  ladies  to  see  you,"  grunted  the  red-haired  serv- 
A  ant,  throwing  open  the  door  without  ceremony ;  and 
she  actually  bounced  out  again  without  seeing  anything  more 
than  that  her  master  was  lying  on  the  sofa. 

Susan  Merton  and  her  aunt  came  rapidly  and  cheerfully 
into  the  room. 

"Here  we  are,  Mr.  Eden,  Aunt  Davies  and  I — oh !"  The 
table  being  between  the  sofa  and  the  door,  the  poor  gentle- 
man's actual  condition  was  not  self-evident  from  the  latter, 
but  Susan  was  now  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  her  gaiety 
gave  way  in  a  moment  to  terror. 

"Why,  the  man  has  fainted !"  cried  Mrs.  Davies  hurriedly. 
Susan  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  turned  very  pale ;  but 
for  all  that  she  was  the  first  at  Mr.  Eden's  head.  "He  is 
choking !  he  is  choking !  Help  me,  aunt,  help  me !"  but  even 
while  crying  for  help  her  nimble  fingers  had  untied  and 
flung  away  Mr.  Eden's  white  necktie,  which,  being  high  and 
stiff,  was  doing  him  a  very  ill  turn,  as  the  air  forcing  itself 
violently  through  his  nostrils  plainly  showed. 

"Take  his  legs,  aunt !     Oh,  oh,  oh  !" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  girl ;  it  is  only  a  faint." 

Susan  flew  to  the  window  and  threw  it  open,  then  flew 
back  and  seized  one  end  of  the  couch.     Her  aunt  compre- 

221 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

hended  at  a  glance,  and  the  two  carried  it  with  its  burden 
to  the  window. 

"Open  the  door,  aunt,"  cried  Susan,  as  she  whipped  out 
her  scent-bottle,  and  with  her  finger  wetted  the  inside  of  his 
nostrils  with  the  spirit  as  the  patient  lay  in  the  thorough 
draught.  Susan  sobbed  wath  sorrow  and  fear,  but  her  emo- 
tion was  far  from  disabling  her. 

She  poured  some  of  her  scent  into  a  water-glass  and  di- 
luted it  largely.  She  made  her  aunt  take  a  hand-screen  from 
the  mantelpiece.  She  plunged  her  hand  into  the  liquid  and 
flung  the  drops  sharply  into  Mr.  Eden's  face ;  and  Mrs. 
Davies  fanned  him  rapidly  at  the  same  time. 

These  remedies  had  a  speedy  effect.  First  the  film  cleared 
from  the  patient's  bright  eye,  then  a  little  colour  diffused  it- 
self gradually  over  his  cheek,  and  last  his  lips  lost  their  livid 
tint.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him  coming  to,  Susan  composed 
herself ;  and  Mr.  Eden,  on  his  return  to  consciousness,  looked 
up  and  saw  a  beautiful  young  woman  looking  down  on  him 
with  a  cheerful  encouraging  smile  and  wet  cheeks. 

"Ah !"  sighed  he,  and  put  out  his  hand  faintly  to  welcome 
Susan,  "but  what — how  do  I  come  here?" 

"You  have  been  a  little  faint,"  said  Susan,  smiling,  "but 
you  are  better  now,  you  know." — "Yes,  thank  you.  How 
good  of  you  to  come.     Who  is  this  lady?" 

"My  aunt,  sir;  a  very  notable  woman.  See,  she  is  setting 
your  things  to  rights  already.     Aunt,  I  wonder  at  you." 

She  then  dipped  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief  in  scent, 
and  slightly  colouring  now  that  her  patient  was  conscious, 
she  made  the  spirit  enter  his  nostrils. 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  languid  pleasure — "That  is  so  invig- 
orating." Then  he  looked  upward — "See  how  good  God  is 
to  me !  in  my  sore  need  He  has  sent  me  help.  Oh,  how 
pleasant  is  the  face  of  a  friend.  By  the  way,  I  took  you  for 
an  angel  at  first,"  added  he  naively. 

"But  you  have  come  to  your  senses  now,  sir  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !" 
cried  busy,  merry  Mrs.  Davies,  hard  at  work.  For  as  soon 
as  the  patient  began  visibly  to  return  to  life,  she  had  turned 
her  back  on  him  and  fallen  on  the  furniture. 

"I  hope  you  are  come  to  stay  with  me." 

As  Susan  was  about  to  answer  in  the  negative,  Mrs.  Da- 

222 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

vies  made  signals  for  a  private  conference ;  and  after  some 
whispering,  Susan  replied,  "that  her  aunt  wanted  to  put  the 
house  in  apple-pie  order,  and  that  she,  Susan,  felt  too  anx- 
ious about  him  to  go  until  he  should  be  quite  recovered." 

"In  that  case,  ladies,"  said  he,  "I  consecrate  to  you  my 
entire  second  floor,  three  rooms,"  and  he  rang  the  bell  and 
said  to  the  servant,  "Take  your  orders  from  these  ladies  and 
show  them  the  second  floor." 

While  his  visitors  were  examining  their  apartments,  Mr. 
Eden  sought  a  little  rest,  and  had  no  sooner  dropped  upon 
his  bed,  than  sleep  came  to  his  relief. 

He  slept  for  nearly  four  hours ;  at  first  soundly,  then  doz- 
ing and  dreaming.  While  he  slept  a  prisoner  sent  for  him, 
but  Susan  would  not  have  him  awakened  for  that. 

By-and-by  Susan  went  into  the  town,  leaving  her  aunt 
sole  guardian. 

"Now,  aunt,"  said  she,  "don't  let  him  be  disturbed,  who- 
ever comes  for  him.     It  is  as  much  as  his  life  is  worth !" 

"Well,  then,  I  w^on't !  there." 

Susan  had  not  been  long  gone  when  a  turnkey  called,  and 
was  shown  into  the  parlour  where  Mrs.  Davies  was  very 
busy.  He  looked  about  him,  and  told  her  he  had  called  for 
a  book  Mr.  Eden  promised  him. 

"Mr.  Eden  is  asleep." 

"Asleep  at  this  time  of  day?"  said  the  man  incredulously. 

"Yes,  asleep,"  answered  Mrs.  Davies  sharply;  "is  he  never 
to  have  any  sleep?" 

"Well,  perhaps  you  will  tell  him  Mr.  Fry  has  come  for  the 
book  as  requested." 

"Couldn't  think  of  disturbing  him  for  that,  Mr.  Fry,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Davies,  not  intermitting  her  work  for  a  single 
moment, 

"Very  well,  ma'am !"  said  ]\Ir.  Fry,  in  dudgeon.  "I  never 
was  here  before,  and  I  shan't  ever  come  again — that  is  all ;" 
and  off  he  went. 

Mrs.  Davies  showed  her  dismay  at  this  threat  by  dusting 
on  without  once  taking  her  eye  or  her  mind  off  her  job. 

It  was  eight  o'clock.  Mr.  Eden  woke  and  found  it  almost 
dark. 

He  rose  immediately :     "Why,  I  have  slept  the  day  away," 

223 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

thought  he  in  dismay ;  "and  my  memorial  to  the  Home  Office 
— it  is  past  post-time,  and  I  have  not  sent  it."  He  came  has- 
tily downstairs,  and  entered  the  parlour;  he  found  it  in  a 
frightful  state.  All  the  chairs  were  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  every  part  of  which  was  choked  up  except  a  pathway 
three  feet  broad  that  ran  by  the  side  of  the  wall  all  round  it. 
From  this  path  all  access  into  the  interior  was  blocked  by 
the  furniture,  which  now  stood  upon  an  area  frightfully  di- 
minished by  this  loss  of  three  feet  taken  from  each  wall. 
Mrs.  Davies  was  a  character — a  notable  woman !  Mr.  Eden's 
heart  sank  at  the  sight. 

To  find  himself  put  to  rights  gives  a  bachelor  an  innocent 
pleasure,  but  the  preliminary  process  of  being  put  entirely 
to  wrongs  crushes  his  soul.  "Another  fanatic  let  loose  on 
me,"  thought  he ;  "and  my  room  is  like  a  road  that  is  just 
mended,  as  they  call  it."  He  peered  about  here  and  there 
through  a  grove  of  chairs  whose  legs  were  kicking  in  the  air 
as  they  sat  bosom  downwards  upon  their  brethren,  but  he 
could  see  no  memorial.  He  rang  the  bell  and  inquired  of  the 
servant  w^hether  she  had  seen  it.  While  he  was  describing  it 
to  her,  Mrs.  Davies  broke  in. 

"I  saw  it — I  picked  it  up  off  the  floor ;  it  was  lying  between 
the  sofa  and  the  table." 

"And  what  did  you  do  with  it?" — "Why,  dusted  it,  to  be 
sure." 

"But  where  did  you  put  it?" — "On  the  table,  I  suppose." 

Another  search  and  no  memorial. 

"Somebody  has  taken  it." 

"But  who?     Has  anybody  been  in  this  room  since?" 

"Plenty !  You  don't  get  much  peace  here,  I  should  say ; 
but  Susan  gave  the  order  you  were  not  to  be  disturbed." 

"This  won't  do,"  thought  Mr.  Eden. — "Who  has  been 
here?"  said  he  to  the  servant. 

"Mr.  Fry  is  the  only  one  that  came  into  this  room." 

"Mr.  Fry !"  said  Mr.  Eden  with  some  surprise. 

"Ay !  ay !"  cried  Mrs.  Davies.  "I  remember  now  there 
was  an  ill-looking  fellow  of  that  name  here  talking  to  me 
pretending  you  had  promised  him  a  book." 

"But  I  did  promise  him  a  book." 

"Oh,  you  did,  did  you?     Well,  he  looked  like  a  thief;  per- 

224 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

haps  he  has — goodness  gracious  me,  I  hope  there  was  no 
money  in  it,"  and  Mrs.  Davies  lost  her  ruddy  colour  in  a 
moment. 

"No !  no !     It  was  only  a  letter,  but  of  great  importance." 

Another  violent  search  at  the  risk  of  shins  and  hands. 

"That  Fry  has  taken  it.  I  never  saw  such  a  hang-dog 
looking  fellow." 

Mr.  Eden  was  much  vexed ;  but  he  had  a  trick  of  blaming 
himself — Heaven  only  knows  where  he  caught  it.  "My  own 
forgetfulness ;  even  if  the  paper  had  not  been  lost,  I  had 
allowed  post-time  to  go  by,  and  Mr.  Hawes  will  anticipate 
me  with  the  Home  Secretary."     He  sighed. 

In  so  severe  a  struggle  he  was  almost  as  reluctant  to  give 
an  unfair  advantage  as  to  take  one. 

He  ordered  a  fire  in  his  little  back-parlour ;  and  with  a 
sigh  sat  down  to  re-write  his  memorial,  and  to  try  and  re- 
cover, if  he  could,  the  exact  words,  and  save  the  next  post, 
that  left  in  the  morning. 

As  Mr,  Eden  sat  trying  to  recover  the  words  of  his  memo- 
rial, Hawes  was  seated  in  Mr.  Williams'  study  at  Ashtown 
Park,  concerting  with  that  worthy  magistrate  the  best  way  of 

turning  the  new  chaplain  out  of  Gaol.     He  found  no 

difficulty,  Mr,  Williams  had  two  very  strong  prejudices — 
one  in  favour  of  Hawes  personally,  the  other  in  favour  of  the 
system  pursued  this  two  years  in  that  gaol.  Egotism  was 
here  too,  and  rendered  these  prejudices  almost  impregnable. 
Williams  had  turned  out  O'Connor  and  his  milder  system, 
and  put  in  Hawes  and  his  more  rigorous  one.  Hawes  was 
"my  man — his  system  mine." 

He  told  his  story,  and  Williams  burned  to  avenge  his  in- 
jured friend,  whose  patron  and  director  he  called  himself, 
and  whose  tool  he  was. 

"Nothing  can  be  done  until  the  25th,  when  Palmer  returns. 
We  must  be  all  there  for  an  act  of  this  importance.  Do  your 
duty  as  you  always  have,  carry  out  the  discipline,  and  send 
for  me  if  he  gives  you  any  great  annoyance  in  the  meantime." 

That  zealous  servant  of  Her  Majesty,  earnest  Mr.  Hawes, 
had  never  taken  a  day's  holiday  before.  No  man  could  ac- 
cuse him  of  indolence,  carelessness,  or  faint  discharge  of  the 
task  he  had  appointed  himself.     He  perverted  his  duties  too 

"  225 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

much  to  neglect  them.  He  had  been  reluctant  to  leave  the 
prison  on  a  personal  affair.  The  drive,  however,  was  pleas- 
ant, and  he  returned  freshened  and  animated  by  assurances 
of  support  from  the  magistrate. 

As  he  strode  across  the  prison-yard  to  inspect  everything 
before  going  to  his  house,  he  felt  invulnerable,  and  sneered 
at  himself  for  the  momentary  uneasiness  he  had  let  a  crack- 
brained  parson  give  him.  He  went  home ;  there  was  a  nice 
fire,  a  clean-swept  hearth,  a  glittering  brass  kettle  on  the 
hob  for  making  toddy,  and  three  different  kinds  of  spirits 
in  huge  cruets.  For  system  reigned  in  the  house  as  well  as 
the  gaol,  with  this  difference,  that  the  house  system  was  de- 
voted to  making  self  comfortable,  the  gaol  system  to  mak- 
ing others  wretched. 

He  rang  the  bell.  In  came  the  servant  with  slippers  and 
candles  unlighted,  for  he  was  wont  to  sip  his  grog  by  fire- 
light. He  put  on  his  slippers ;  then  he  mixed  his  grog ;  then 
he  noticed  a  paper  on  the  table,  and  putting  it  to  the  fire,  he 
found  it  was  sealed.  So  he  lighted  the  candles  and  placed 
them  a  little  behind  him.  Then  he  stirred  his  grog  and 
sipped  it,  and  placing  it  close  beside  him,  leaned  back  with 
a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  opened  the  paper,  read  it  first  slowly, 
then  all  in  a  flutter,  started  up  as  if  he  was  going  to  act  upon 
some  impulse,  but  the  next  moment  sat  down  again  and 
stared  wildly,  a  picture  of  stupid  consternation. 

Meantime  as  Mr.  Eden,  with  a  heavy  heart,  was  writing 
himself  out — nauseous  task — Susan  stood  before  him  with  a 
colour  like  a  rose.  She  was  in  a  brown  cloak,  from  under 
which  she  took  out  a  basket  brimful  of  little  packages,  some 
in  blue,  some  in  white  paper. 

"These  are  grits,"  said  she,  "and  these  are  arrowroot." 

"I  know — one  of  the  phases  of  the  potato." 

"Oh,  for  shame,  Mr.  Eden.  Well,  I  never!  And  I  post- 
ed your  letter,  sir." 

"What  letter?     What  letter?" 

"The  long  one.     I  found  it  on  the  table." 

"You  don't  mean  you  posted  that  letter?" 

"Why,  it  was  to  go,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  it  was  to  go;  but  it  was  wonderfully  intelligent  of 
you." 

226 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"La,  Mr.  Eden !  don't  talk  so ;  you  make  me  ashamed. 
Why,  there  was  'immediate'  written  on  it  in  your  own  hand. 
Was  I  to  wake  you  up  to  ask  whether  that  meant  it  was  to 
stay  here  immediate  or  go  to  London  immediate?"  Then 
she  pondered  a  moment.  "He  thinks  I  am  a  fool,"  said  she 
in  quiet  explanation,  without  a  shade  of  surprise  or  anger. 

"Well,  Susan,  my  dear  friend,  you  don't  know  what  a  serv- 
ice you  have  done  me !" 

Susan  glittered  with  pleasure. 

"There !"  cried  he,  "you  have  spared  me  this  most  un- 
pleasant task,"  and  he  flung  his  unfinished  papers  into  a 
basket.  Mr.  Eden  congratulated  himself  in  his  way,  i.e., 
thanked  Heaven  Susan  had  come  there ;  the  next  thing  was, 
he  had  a  twinge  of  conscience.  "I  half  suspected  Fry  of 
taking  it  in  the  interest  of  Hawes,  his  friend.  Poor  Fry, 
who  is  a  brute,  but  as  honest  a  man  as  myself  every  bit.  He 
shall  have  his  book,  at  all  events.  I'll  put  his  name  on  it, 
that  I  mayn't  forget  it  again."  Mr.  Eden  took  the  book 
from  its  shelf,  wrapped  it  in  paper,  and  wrote  on  the  cover. 
"For  Mr.  Fry,  from  F.  Eden."  As  the  incidents  of  the  day 
are  ended,  I  may  as  well  relate  what  this  book  was,  and  how 
Fry  came  to  ask  for  it. 

The  book  was  "Uncle  Tom,"  a  story  which  discusses  the 
largest  human  topic  that  ever  can  arise ;  for  the  human  race 
is  bisected  into  black  and  white.  Now-a-days,  a  huge  ob- 
ject greatly  treated  receives  justice  from  the  public,  and 
"Uncle  Tom"  is  written  in  many  places  with  art,  in  all  with 
red  ink  and  with  the  biceps  muscle. 

Great  by  theme,  and  great  by  skill,  and  greater  by  a  writ- 
er's soul  honestly  flung  into  its  pages,  "Uncle  Tom,"  to  the 
surprise  of  many  that  twaddle  traditional  phrases  in  reviews 
and  magazines  about  the  art  of  fiction,  and  to  the  surprise 
of  no  man  who  knows  anything  about  the  art  of  fiction,  was 
all  the  rage.  Not  to  have  read  it  was  like  not  to  have  read 
the  Times  for  a  week. 

Once  or  twice  during  the  crucifixion  of  a  prisoner,  Mr. 
Eden  had  said  bitterly  to  Fry,  "Have  you  read  'Uncle  Tom'  ?" 

"No !"  would  Fry  grunt. 

But  one  day  that  the  question  was  put  to  him,  he  asked 
with  some  appearance  of  interest,  "Who  is  Uncle  Tom  ?" 

227 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Then  Mr.  Eden  began  to  reflect.  ''Who  knows?  The 
cases  are  in  a  great  measure  parallel.  Prisoners  are  a  ta- 
booed class  in  England,  as  are  blacks  in  some  few  of  the 
United  States.  The  lady  writes  better  than  I  can  talk.  If 
she  once  seizes  his  sympathies  by  the  wonderful  power  of  fic- 
tion, she  will  touch  his  conscience  through  his  heart.  This 
disciple  of  Legree  is  fortified  against  me ;  Mrs.  Stowe  may 
take  him  off  his  guard.  He  said  slily  to  Fry,  "Not  know 
Uncle  Tom !  Why,  it  is  a  most  interesting  story — a  charm- 
ing story.  There  are  things  in  it,  too,  that  meet  your  case." 
— "Indeed,  sir !" 

"It  is  a  book  you  will  like.     Shall  I  lend  it  you  ?" 

"If  you  please,  sir.  Nights  are  drawing  in  now." — "I  will, 
then." 

And  he  would ;  but  that  frightful  malady  jaundice,  amongst 
its  other  feats,  impairs  the  patient's  memory,  and  he  forgot 
all  about  it.  So  Fry,  whose  curiosity  was  at  last  excited, 
came  for  the  book.     The  rest  we  know. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MR.  HA  WES  went  about  the  prison  next  day  morose 
and  melancholy.  He  spoke  to  no  one,  and  snapped 
those  who  spoke  to  him.  He  punished  no  prisoner  all  day, 
but  he  looked  at  them  as  a  wolf  at  fortified  sheep.  He  did 
not  know  what  to  do  to  avert  the  blow  he  had  drawn  so  per- 
severingly  on  his  own  head.  At  one  time  he  thought  of 
writing  to  the  Home  Office  and  aspersing  his  accuser;  then 
he  regretted  his  visit  to  Ashtown  Park.  "What  an  unlucky 
dog  I  am !     I  go  to  see  a  man  that  I  was  sure  of  before  I 

went,  and  while  I  am  gone  the parson  steals  a  march  on 

me.  He  will  beat  me !  If  I  hadn't  been  a  fool,  I  should 
have  seen  what  a  dangerous  devil  he  is.  No  putting  him  out 
of  temper !  and  no  putting  him  out  of  heart !  He  will  beat 
me!  The  zealous  services  of  so  many  years  won't  save  me 
with  an  ungrateful  Government.  I  shall  lose  my  stipend !" 
For  a  while  even  stout-hearted,  earnest  Mr.  Hawes  was  de- 
pressed with  gloom  and  bitter  foreboding;  but  he  had  a  re- 

228 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

source  in  trouble  good  Mr.  Eden  in  similar  case  had  not. 
In  the  despondency  of  his  soul  he  turned — to  grog. 
Under  the  inspiration  of  that  deity  he  prepared  for  a  dog- 
ged defence.  He  would  punish  no  more  prisoners,  let  them 
do  what  they  might,  and  then,  if  an  inquiry  should  take  place, 
he  would  be  in  case  to  show  that  by  his  past  severities  he  had 
at  last  brought  his  patients  to  such  perfection  that  weeks  had 
elapsed  without  a  single  punishment  With  this  and  the  jus- 
tices' good  word  he  would  weather  the  storm  yet. 

Thus  passed  three  days  without  one  of  those  assaults  on 
prisoners  he  called  punishment ;  but  this  enforced  forbear- 
ance made  him  hate  his  victims.  He  swore  at  them,  he 
threatened  them  all  round,  and  with  deep  malice  he  gave  open 
orders  to  punish  which  he  secretly  countermanded,  so  that  in 
fact  he  did  punish,  for  blows  suspended  over  the  head  fall 
upon  the  soul.  Thus  he  made  his  prisoners  share  his  gloom. 
He  was  unhappy,  he  was  dull,  robbed  of  an  excitement  which 
had  become  butter  to  his  daily  bread. 

All  prison  life  is  dull.  Chaplain,  turnkeys,  gaolers,  all 
who  live  in  prisons  are  prisoners.  Barren  lof  mental  re- 
sources, too  stupid  to  see,  far  less  read,  the  vast  romance  that 
lay  all  round  him,  every  cell  a  volume ;  too  mindless  to  com- 
prehend his  own  grand  situation  on  a  salient  of  the  State  and 
of  human  nature,  and  to  discern  the  sacred  and  endless  plea- 
sures to  be  gathered  there,  this  unhappy  dolt,  flung  into  a 
lofty  situation  by  shallow  blockheads,  who,  like  himself,  saw 
in  a  gaol  nothing  greater  nor  more  than  a  "place  of  punish- 
ment," must  still,  like  his  prisoners,  and  the  rest  of  us,  have 
some  excitement  to  keep  him  from  going  dead.  What  more 
natural  than  that  such  a  nature  should  find  its  excitement  in 
tormenting,  and  that  by  degrees  this  excitement  should  be- 
come first  a  habit,  then  a  need  ?  Growth  is  the  nature  of 
habit,  not  of  one  sort  or  another,  but  of  all — even  of  an  un- 
natural habit.  Gin  grows  on  a  man — charity  grows  on  a 
man — tobacco  grows  on  a  man — blood  grows  on  a  man. 

At  a  period  of  the  reign  of  terror  the  Parisians  got  to  find 
a  day  weary  without  the  guillotine.  If  by  some  immense 
fortuity  there  came  a  day  when  they  were  not  sprinkled  with 
innocent  blood,  the  poor  souls  s'cnnuyaient.  This  was  not  so 
much  thirst  for  any  particular  liquid  as  the  habit  of  excite- 

229 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

ment.  Some  months  before,  dancing,  theatres,  boulevards, 
&c.,  would  have  made  shift  to  amuse  these  same  hearts,  as 
they  did  some  months  after  when  the  red  habit  was  worn 
out.  Torture  had  grown  upon  stupid,  earnest  Hawes;  it 
seasoned  that  white  of  egg,  a  mindless  existence. 

Oh !  how  dull  he  felt  these  three  deplorable  days,  barren 
of  groans,  and  white  faces,  and  livid  lips,  and  fellow-crea- 
tures shamming,^  and  the  bucket. 

Mr.  Hawes  had  given  a  sulky  order  that  the  infirmary 
should  be  prepared  for  the  sick,  and  now  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  the  surgeon  had  met  him  there  by  appoint- 
ment. 

''Will  they  get  well  any  quicker  here?"  asked  Hawes  ironi- 
cally.— "Why,  certainly,"  replied  the  other. 

Hawes  gave  a  dissatisfied  grunt. 

"I  hate  moving  prisoners  out  of  the  cells ;  but  I  suppose  I 
shall  get  you  into  trouble  if  I  don't." 

"Indeed !"  said  the  other,  with  an  inquiring  air ;  "how  ?" 

"Parson  threatens  you  very  hard  for  letting  the  sick  ones 
lie  in  their  cells,"  said  Hawes  slily.  "But  never  mind,  old  boy 
— I  shall  stand  your  friend  and  the  justices  mine.  We  shall 
beat  him  yet,"  said  Hawes,  assuming  a  firmness  he  did  not 
feel,  lest  this  man  should  fall  away  from  him  and  perhaps 
bear  witness  against  him. 

"I  think  you  have  beat  him  already,"  replied  the  other 
calmly. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  have  just  come  from  Mr.  Eden.     He  sent  for  me." 

"What,  isn't  he  well?"— "No." 

"1  wish  he'd  die !     But  there  is  no  chance  of  that." 

"Well,  there  is  always  a  chance  of  a  man  dying  who  has 
got  a  bilious  fever." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  he  is  seriously  ill  ?"  cried  Hawes  in 
excitement. — "I  don't  say  that,  but  he  has  got  a  sharp  at- 
tack." 

Mr.  Hawes  examined  the  speaker's  face.  It  was  as  legible 
as  a  book  from  the  outside.  He  went  from  the  subject  to  one 
or  two  indifferent  matters,  but  he  could  not  keep  long  from 
what  was  uppermost. 

lA  generic  term  for  swooning,  or  sickening,  or  going  mad  in  a  prison. 

230 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Sawyer,"  said  he,  "you  and  I  have  always  been  good 
friends." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"I  have  never  been  hard  upon  you.  You  ought  to  be  here 
every  day,  but  the  pay  is  small,  and  I  have  never  insisted  on 
it,  because  I  said  he  can't  afford  to  leave  patients  that  pay." 

"No,  Mr.  Hawes,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  you." 

"Are  you?  Then  tell  me — between  ourselves  now — how 
ill  is  he?" — "He  has  got  bilious  fever  consequent  upon  jaun- 
dice." 

Hawes  lowered  his  voice.     "Is  he  in  danger?" 

"In  danger?     Why,  no,  not  at  present." 

"Oh,  then  it  is  only  an  indisposition  after  all." 

"It  is  a  great  deal  more  than  that — it  is  fever  and  bile." 

"Can't  you  tell  me  in  two  words  how  ill  he  is  ?" 

"Not  till  I  see  how  the  case  turns." 

"When  wall  you  be  able  to  say,  then?" 

"When  the  disorder  declares  itself  more  fully." 

Hawes  exploded  in  an  oath.  "You  humbugs  of  doctors 
couldn't  speak  plain  to  save  yourselves  from  hanging." 

There  was  some  truth  in  this  ill-natured  excuse.  After  fif- 
teen years  given  to  the  science  of  obscurity,  Mr.  Sawyer  lit- 
erally could  not  speak  plain  all  in  one  moment. 

The  next  morning  there  was  no  service  in  the  chapel,  the 
chaplain  was  in  bed.  This  spoke  for  itself,  and  Hawes  wore 
a  grim  satisfaction  at  the  announcement. 

But  this  was  not  all.  In  the  afternoon  came  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Williams  with  a  large  enclosure  signed  by  Her  Majesty's 
secretary's  secretary,  and  written  by  her  secretary's  secre- 
tary's secretary.  Its  precise  contents  will  be  related  else- 
where. Its  tendency  may  be  gathered  from  this.  Hawes 
had  no  sooner  read  it,  than  exultation  painted  itself  on  his 
countenance. 

"Close  the  infirmary,  and  bring  me  the  key.  And,  you 
Fry,  put  these  numbers  on  the  cranks  to-morrow."  He  scrib- 
bled with  his  pencil,  and  gave  him  a  long  list  of  the  pro- 
scribed. 

No  IMr.  Eden  shone  now  upon  Robinson's  solitude.  He 
waited,  and  waited,  and  hoped  till  the  day  ended,  but  no! 
The  next  day  the  same  thing.     He  longed  for  Mr.  Eden's 

231 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

hour  to  come;  it  came,  but  not  with  it  came  his  one  bit  of 
sunshine,  his  excitement,  his  amusement,  his  consolation,  his 
friend,  his  brother,  his  all.  And  so  one  heavy  day  succeeded 
another,  and  Robinson  became  fretful  and  very  very  sad. 
One  day  he  sat  disconsolate  and  foreboding  in  his  cell,  he 
heard  a  stranger's  voice  talking  to  Fry  outside:  and  what 
was  more  strange,  Fry  appeared  to  be  inviting  this  person  to 
inspect  the  cells.  The  next  moment  his  door  was  opened,  and 
a  figure  peeped  timidly  into  the  cell  from  behind  Fry,  whose 
arm  she  clutched  in  some  anxiety.  Robinson  looked  up,  it 
was  Susan  Merton.  She  did  not  instantly  know  him  in  his 
prison  dress  and  his  curly  hair  cut  short,  he  hung  his  head, 
and  this  action,  and  the  recognition  it  implied,  made  her  rec- 
ognise him.     "Oh !"  cried  she,  "it  is  Mr.  Robinson !" 

The  thief  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  Even  he  was 
ashamed  before  one  who  had  known  him  as  Mr.  Robinson; 
but  the  next  moment  he  got  up  and  said  earnestly,  "Pray, 
Miss  Merton,  do  me  a  favour — you  had  always  a  kind  heart. 
Ask  that  man  what  has  become  of  Mr.  Eden — he  will  answer 
you." 

"Mr.  Robinson,"  cried  Susan,  "I  have  no  need  to  ask  Mr. 
Fry.  I  am  staying  at  Mr.  Eden's  house.  He  is  very  ill,  Mr. 
Robinson." 

"Ah !  I  feared  as  much ;  he  never  would  have  deserted  me 
else.     What  is  the  trouble?" 

"You  may  well  say  trouble !  it  is  the  prison  that  has  fretted 
him  to  death,"  cried  Susan,  half  bitterly  half  sorrowfully. 

"But  he  will  get  well!  it  is  not  serious?"  inquired  Robin- 
son anxiously.     Fry  pricked  his  ears. 

"He  is  very  ill,  Mr.  Robinson,"  and  Susan  sighed  heavily. 

"I'll  pray  for  him.  He  has  taught  me  to  pray — all  the  poor 
fellows  will  pray  for  him  that  knows  how.  Miss  Merton, 
good  for  nothing  as  I  am,  I  would  die  for  Mr.  Eden  this  min- 
ute if  I  could  save  his  life  by  it." 

Susan  thought  of  this  speech  afterwards.  Now  she  but 
said,  "I  will  tell  him  what  you  say." 

"And  won't  you  bring  me  one  word  back  from  his  dear 
mouth?"— "Yes  I  will.     Good-bye,  Mr.  Robinson." 

Robinson  tried  to  say  good-bye,  but  it  stuck  in  his  throat. 
Susan  retired  and  his  cell  seemed  darker  than  ever. 

232 


^^1 


J 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Eden  lay  stricken  with  fever.  He  had  been  what 
most  of  us  would  have  called  ill  long  before  this.  The  day 
of  Carter's  crucifixion  was  a  fatal  day  to  him.  On  that  day, 
for  the  first  time,  he  saw  a  crucifixion  without  being  sick  after 
it.  The  poor  soul  congratulated  himself  so  on  this ;  but  there 
is  reason  to  think  that  same  sickness  acted  as  a  safety-valve  to 
his  nature ;  when  it  ceased  the  bile  overflowed  and  mixed 
with  his  blood,  producing  that  horrible  complaint  jaundice. 
Even  then,  if  the  causes  of  grief  and  wrong  had  ceased,  he 
might  perhaps  have  had  no  dangerous  attack ;  but  everything 
was  against  him — constant  grief,  constant  worry,  and  con- 
stant preternatural  exertions  to  sustain  others  while  droop- 
ing himself.  Even  those  violent  efforts  of  will  by  which  he 
thrust  back  for  a  time  the  approaches  of  his  malady  told  heav- 
ily upon  him  at  last.  The  thorough-bred  horse  ran  much 
longer  than  a  cocktail  would,  but  he  could  not  run  for 
ever. 

He  lay  unshaven,  hollow-eyed,  and  sallow ;  Mrs.  Davies  and 
Susan  watched  him  by  turns,  except  when  he  compelled  them 
to  go  and  take  a  little  rest  or  amusement.  The  poor  thing's 
thoughts  were  never  of  himself,  even  when  he  was  light- 
headed, and  this  was  often,  though  not  for  long  together. 
It  was  generally  his  poor  prisoners,  and  what  he  was  going  to 
do  for  them. 

This  is  how  Susan  Merton  came  to  visit  Robinson : — One 
day  seeing  his  great  interest  in  all  that  concerned  the  prison, 
and  remembering  there  was  a  book  addressed  to  one  of  the 
officers,  Susan,  who  longed  to  do  something,  however  small, 
to  please  him,  determined  to  take  this  book  to  its  destination. 
Leaving  Mrs.  Davies  with  a  strict  injunction  not  to  stir  from 
Mr.  Eden's  room  till  she  came  back,  she  went  to  the  prison 
and  knocked  timidly  at  the  great  door.  It  was  opened  in- 
stantly, and  as  Susan  fancied,  fiercely,  by  a  burly  figure. 
Susan,  suppressing  an  inclination  to  run  away,  asked  tremu- 
lously— 

"Does  Mr.  Fry  live  here  ?"— "Yes." 

"Can  I  speak  to  him?"— "Yes.     Come  in.  Miss." 

Susan  stepped  in. — The  man  slammed  the  door. 

Susan  wished  herself  on  its  other  side. 

"My  name  is  Fry:  what  is  your  pleasure  with  me?" 

233 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Mr.  Fry,  I  am  so  glad  I  have  found  you.  I  am  come  here 
from  a  friend  of  yours." 

"From  a  friend  of  mine??!!"  said  Fry  with  a  mystified  air. 

"Yes ;  from  Mr.  Eden.  Here  is  the  book,  Mr.  Fry ;  poor 
Mr.  Eden  could  not  bring  it  you  himself,  but  you  see  he  has 
written  your  name  on  the  cover  with  his  own  hand." 

Fry  took  the  book  from  Susan's  hand,  and  in  so  doing  ob- 
served that  she  was  lovely ;  so,  to  make  her  a  return  for  bring- 
ing him  "Uncle  Tom,"  and  for  being  so  pretty,  Fry  for  once 
in  his  life  felt  generous,  and  repaid  her  by  volunteering  to 
show  her  the  prison — indulgent  Fry ! 

To  his  surprise  Susan  did  not  jump  at  this  remuneration. 
On  the  contrary,  she  said  hastily,  "Oh,  no !  no !  no !" 

Then,  seeing  by  his  face  that  her  new  acquaintance  thought 
her  a  madwoman,  she  added — 

"That  is,  yes !  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  it  a  little — a  very 
little — but  if  I  do,  you  must  keep  close  by  me,  Mr.  Fry." 

"Why,  of  course  I  shall  keep  with  you,"  replied  Fry  some- 
what contemptuously.  "No  strangers  admitted  except  in 
company  of  an  officer." 

Susan  still  hung  fire  a  little. 

"But  you  mustn't  go  to  show  me  the  very  wicked  ones." 

"Why,  they  are  all  pretty  much  of  a  muchness,  for  that." 

"I  mean  the  murderers — I  couldn't  bear  such  a  sight." 

"Got  none,"  said  Fry  sorrowfully ;  "parted  with  the  last  of 
that  sort  four  months  ago — up  at  eight,  down  at  nine — you 
understand.  Miss." 

Happily  Susan  did  not  understand  this  brutal  allusion ;  and, 
not  to  show  her  ignorance,  she  said  nothing,  but  passed  to  a 
second  stipulation — 

"And,  Mr.  Fry,  I  know  the  men  that  set  fire  to  Farmer 
Dean's  ricks  in  this  gaol ;  I  won't  see  them ;  they  would  give 
me  such  a  turn,  for  that  seems  to  me  the  next  crime  after  mur- 
der, to  destroy  the  crops  after  the  verv  weather  has  spared 
them." 

Fry  smiled  superior ;  then  he  said  sarcastically,  "Don't  you 
be  frightened ;  some  of  our  lot  are  beauties ;  your  friend  the 
parson  is  as  fond  of  some  of  'em  as  a  cow  is  of  her  calf." 

"Oh,  then,  show  me  those  ones." 

Fry  took  her  to  one  or  two  cells.     Whenever  he  opened  a 

234 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

cell  door  she  always  clutched  him  on  both  ribs,  and  this  tickled 
Fry,  so  did  her  simplicity. 

At  last  he  came  to  Robinson's  cell. 

"In  here  there  is  a  sulky  chap." 

"Oh,  then,  let  us  go  on  to  the  next." 

"But  this  is  one  his  reverence  is  uncommon  fond  of,"  said 
Fry  with  a  sneer  and  a  chuckle ;  so  he  flung  open  the  door,  and 
if  the  man  had  not  hung  his  head,  Susan  would  hardly  have 
recognised  in  his  uniform  corduroy  and  close-cropped  hair  the 
vulgar  Adonis  who  had  sat  glittering  opposite  her  at  table  the 
last  time  they  met. 

After  the  interview  which  I  have  described,  Susan  grati- 
fied Fry  by  praising  the  beautiful  cleanliness  of  the  prison, 
and  returned,  leaving  a  pleasant  impression  even  on  this  rough 
hide  and  "Uncle  Tom"  behind  her. 

When  she  got  home  she  found  her  patient  calm  but  lan- 
guid. 

While  she  was  relating  her  encounter  with  Robinson,  and 
her  previous  acquaintance  with  him,  the  knock  of  a  born  fool 
at  a  sick  man's  door  made  them  all  start.  It  was  Rutila  with 
a  long  letter  bearing  an  ample  seal. 

Mr.  Eden  took  it  with  brightening  eye,  read  it,  and  ground 
it  almost  convulsively  in  his  hand.  "Asses !"  cried  he ;  but 
the  next  moment  he  groaned  and  bowed  his  head.  Her  Ma- 
jesty's secretary's  secretary's  secretary  had  written  to  tell  him 
that  his  appeal  for  an  inquiry  had  travelled  out  of  the  regular 
course ;  it  ought  to  have  been  made  in  the  first  instance  to  the 
visiting  justices,  whose  business  it  was  to  conduct  such  in- 
quiries, and  that  it  lay  with  these  visiting  justices  to  apply  to 
the  Home  Office  for  an  extraordinary  inquiry  if  they  found 
they  could  not  deal  with  the  facts  in  the  usual  way.  The 
Office,  therefore,  had  sent  copies  of  his  memorial  to  each  of 
the  visiting  justices,  who,  at  their  next  inspection  of  the  gaol, 
would  examine  into  the  alleged  facts,  and  had  been  requested 
to  insert  the  results  in  their  periodical  report. 

Mr.  Eden  sat  up  in  bed,  his  eye  glittering.  "Bring  me  my 
writing-desk." 

It  was  put  on  the  bed  before  him,  but  with  many  kind  in- 
junctions not  to  worry  himself.  He  promised  faithfully.  He 
wrote  to  the  Home  Office  in  this  style: — 

235 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"A  question  of  life  and  death  cannot  be  played  with  as  you 
have  inconsiderately  proposed ;  nor  can  a  higher  jurisdiction 
transfer  an  appeal  to  a  lower  one  without  the  appellant's  con- 
sent. Such  a  course  is  still  more  out  of  order  when  the  high- 
er judge  is  a  salaried  servant  of  the  State  and  the  lower  ones 
are  amateurs.  This  was  so  self-evident  that  I  did  not  step 
out  of  the  direct  line  to  cast  reflections  upon  unpaid  servants. 
You  have  not  seen  what  is  self-evident — you  drive  me  there- 
fore to  explanations. 

"I  offered  you  evidence  that  this  gaoler  is  a  felon,  who  has 
hoodwinked  the  visiting  justices  and  has  deceived  you.  But 
between  you  and  the  justices  is  this  essential  difference;  they 
have  been  hoodwinked  in  spite  of  their  own  eyes,  their  own 
ears,  and  contact  with  that  mass  of  living  and  dying  evidence, 
the  prisoners.  You  have  been  deceived  without  a  single  op- 
portunity to  learn  the  truth. 

"Therefore  I  appealed,  and  do  appeal,  not  to  convicted  in- 
competency, but  to  those  whose  incompetency  remains  to  be 
proved.  Perhaps  you  will  understand  me  better  if  I  put  it 
thus :  I  still  accuse  the  gaoler  of  more  than  a  hundred  feloni- 
ous assaults  upon  prisoners,  of  attacks  upon  their  lives  by 
physical  torture,  by  hunger,  thirst,  preposterous  confinement  in 
dark  dungeons,  and  other  illegal  practices ;  and  I  now  advance 
another  step,  and  accuse  the  visiting  justices  of  gross  dere- 
liction of  their  duty,  of  neglecting  to  ascertain  the  real  prac- 
tice of  the  gaoler  in  some  points,  and  in  others  of  encourag- 
ing, aiding,  and  abetting  him  in  open  violations  of  the  prison- 
rules,  printed  and  issued  by  Act  of  Parliament.  Of  these 
rules,  which  are  the  gaol  code,  I  send  you  a  copy.  I  note  the 
practices  of  the  gaol  by  the  side  of  the  rules  of  the  gaol ;  by 
comparing  the  two  you  may  calculate  the  amount  of  lawless 
cruelty  perpetrated  here  in  each  single  day ;  then  ask  yourself 
whether  an  honest  man  who  is  on  the  spot  can  wait  four  or  five 
months  till  justice,  crippled  by  routine,  comes  hobbling  in- 
stead of  sweeping  to  their  relief. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  bring  to  bear  upon  a  matter  vital  to 
the  State  one  half  the  intelligence,  zeal,  and  sense  of  responsi- 
bility you  will  throw  this  evening  into  some  ambiguous  ques- 
tion of  fleeting  policy  or  speculative  finance.  Here  are  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  souls  to  whose  correction,  cure,  and  protec- 

236 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

tion  the  State  is  pledged.  No  one  of  all  these  lives  is  safe  a 
single  day.  In  six  weeks  I  have  saved  two  lives  that  were 
gone  but  for  me.  I  am  now  sick  and  enfeebled  by  the  exer- 
tions I  have  had  to  make  to  save  lives,  and  am  in  no  condition 
to  arrest  the  progress  of  destruction.  I  tell  you  that  more 
lives  will  fall  if  you  do  not  come  to  my  aid  at  once ;  and  for 
every  head  that  falls  from  this  hour  I  hold  you  responsible  to 
God  and  the  State. 

*Tf  I  fail  to  prove  my  several  accusations,  as  a  matter  of 
course  I  shall  be  dismissed  from  my  office  deservedly ;  and  this 
personal  risk  entitles  me  not  only  to  petition  for,  but  to  de- 
mand an  inquiry  into  the  practice  of Goal.     And  in  the 

Queen's  name,  whose  salaried  servant  I  am,  I  do  demand  it 
on  the  instant  and  on  the  spot." 

Thus  did  flesh  and  blood  address  gutta-percha. 

The  excitement  of  writing  this  letter  did  the  patient  no 
good.  A  reaction  came,  and  that  night  his  kind  nurses  were 
seriously  alarmed  about  him.  They  sent  for  the  surgeon, 
who  felt  his  pulse  and  his  skin,  and  looked  grave.  However, 
he  told  them  there  was  no  immediate  danger,  and  wrote  a 
fresh  prescription. 

The  patient  would  eat  nothing  but  bread  and  water  and 
gruel,  but  he  took  all  the  doctor's  medicines,  which  were  rak- 
ing ones ;  only  at  each  visit  and  prescription  he  cross-exam- 
ined him  as  to  what  effect  he  hoped  to  produce  by  his  pre- 
scription, and  compared  the  man's  expectations  with  the  re- 
sult. 

This  process  soon  brought  him  to  the  suspicion  that  in  his 
case  yEsculapius's  science  was  guess-work.  But  we  go  on 
hoping  and  hoping  something  from  traditional  remedies,  even 
when  they  fail  and  fail  and  fail  before  our  eyes. 

He  was  often  light-headed,  and  vented  schemes  of  charity 
and  benevolence,  ludicrous  by  their  unearthly  grandeur.  One 
day  he  was  more  than  light-headed — he  was  delirious,  and 
frightened  his  kind  nurses ;  and  to  this  delirium  succeeded 
great  feebleness,  and  this  day,  for  the  first  time,  Susan  made 
up  her  mind  that  it  was  Heaven's  will  earth  should  lose  this 
man,  of  whom,  in  truth,  earth  was  scarce  worthy.  She  came 
to  his  side  and  said  tenderly,  "Let  me  do  something  for  you. 
Shall  I  read  to  you,  or  sing  you  a  hymn  ?"     Her  voice  had  of- 

237 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ten  soothed  and  done  him  good.  "Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for 
you  ?" 

The  man  smiled  gratefully,  then  looked  imploring  in  her 
eyes,  and  said,  "Dear  Susan,  go  for  me  into  the  prison,  and 
pay  Strutt  and  Robinson  each  a  visit.  Strutt  the  longest,  he 
is  the  oldest.     Poor  things !  they  miss  me  sadly." 

Susan  made  no  foolish  objection.  She  did  what  she  was 
asked,  and  came  back  and  told  him  all  they  had  said  and  all 
she  had  said ;  and  how  kind  everybody  was  to  her  in  the 
prison ;  and  how  they  had  all  asked  how  he  was  to-day. 

"They  are  very  good,"  said  he  feebly. 

Soon  after  he  dosed ;  and  Susan,  who  always  wore  a  cheer- 
ful look  to  his  face,  could  now  yield  to  her  real  feelings. 

She  sat  at  some  little  distance  from  the  bed  and  tried  to 
work,  and  every  now  and  then  looked  up  to  watch  him,  and 
again  and  again  her  eyes  were  blinded ;  and  she  laid  down  her 
work,  for  her  heart  said  to  her,  "A  few  short  days  and  you 
will  see  him  no  more." 

Mrs.  Davies,  too,  was  grave  and  sad.  She  had  made  the 
house  neat  and  clean  from  cellar  to  garret,  and  now  he  who 
should  have  enjoyed  it  lay  there  sick  unto  death. 

"Susan,"  said  she,  "I  doubt  I  have  been  sent  here  to  set  his 
house  in  order  against  his " 

"Oh,  don't  tell  me  that,"  cried  Susan,  and  she  burst  into  a 
fit  of  sobbing,  for  Mrs.  Davies  had  harped  her  own  fear'. 

"Take  care ;  he  is  waking  Susan.     He  must  not  see  us." 

"Oh,  no !"  and  the  next  moment  she  was  by  her  patient's 
side  with  a  cheerful  look  and  voice  and  manner,  well  cal- 
culated to  keep  any  male  heart  from  sinking,  sick  or  well. 

Heavy  heart  and  hopeful  face !  such  a  nurse  was  Susan 
Merton.  This  kind  deception  became  more  difficult  every  day. 
Her  patient  wasted  and  wasted ;  and  the  anxious  look  that  is 
often  seen  on  a  death-stricken  man's  face  showed  itself.  Mrs. 
Davies  saw  it,  and  Susan  saw  it ;  but  the  sick  man  himself  as 
yet  had  never  spoken  of  his  disease,  and  both  Mrs.  Davies  and 
Susan  often  wondered  that  he  did  not  seem  to  see  his  real 
state. 

But  one  day  it  so  happened  that  he  was  light-headed  and 
'greatly  excited,  holding  a  conversation.  His  eye  was  flash- 
ing, and  he  spoke  in  bursts^  and    then   stopped   awhile    and 

238 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

seemed  to  be  listening  in  irritation  to  some  arguments  with 
which  he  did  not  agree.  The  enthusiast  was  building  a 
prison  in  the  air — a  prison  with  a  farm,  a  school,  and  a  manu- 
factory attached.  Here  were  to  be  combined  the  good  points 
of  every  system,  and  others  of  his  own. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  his  imaginary  companion, 
"there  shall  be  both  separation  and  silence  for  those  whose 
moral  case  it  suits — for  all  perhaps  at  first — but  not  for  all  al- 
ways. Away  with  your  Morrison's  pill-system — your  childish 
monotony  of  moral  treatment  in  cases  varying  and  sometimes 
opposed. 

"Yes,  but  I  would.  I  would  allow  a  degree  of  intercourse 
between  such  as  were  disposed  to  confirm  each  other  in  good. 
Watch  them  ?  why,  of  course — and  closely  too. 

"Intelligent  labour  for  every  creature  in  the  place.  No 
tickets-of-leave  to  let  the  hypocritical  or  self-deceiving  ones 
loose  upon  the  world. 

"No;  I  test  their  repentance  first  with  a  little  liberty. 

"How  ?  Why,  fly  them  with  a  string  before  I  let  them  fly 
free! 

"Occupation  provided  outside  the  prison-gates ;  instead  of 
ticket-of-leave,  let  the  candidate  work  there  on  parole  and 
come  into  the  prison  at  night. 

"Some  will  break  parole  and  run  away?  All  the  better. 
Then  you  know  their  real  character.  Telegraph  them.  You 
began  by  photographing  them — send  their  likenesses  to  every 
town — catch  them — cell  them. 

"Indeed !  And  pray  what  would  these  same  men  have 
done  had  you  given  them  the  ticket-of-leave  instead? 

"By  the  present  plan  your  pseudo-convert  commits  a  dozen 
crimes  before  his  hypocrisy  is  suspected ;  by  ours  a  single  of- 
fence warns  you  and  arms  you  against  him. 

"Systems  avail  less  than  is  supposed.  For  good  or  ill,  all 
depends  on  your  men — not  your  machinery. 

"We  have  got  rid  of  the  old  patch  that  rotted  our  new  gar- 
ment.    When  I  first  was  chaplain  of  a  gaol — 

(His  mind  had  gone  forward  some  years.) 

"Thjen  we  were  mad — thought  a  new  system  could  be 
worked  by  men  of  the  past,  by  gaolers  and  turnkeys  belong- 
ing to  the  dark  and  brutal  age  that  came  before  ours. 

239 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Those  dark  days  are  passed.  Now  we  have  really  a 
governor  and  warders  instead  of  gaolers  and  turnkeys. 
The  nation  has  discovered  these  are  high  offices,  not  mean 
ones. 

"Yes,  Lepel,  yes !  Our  officers  are  men  picked  out  of  all 
England  for  intelligence  and  humanity.  They  co-operate  with 
me.  Our  goal  is  one  of  the  nation's  eyes — it  is  a  school, 
thank  Heaven  it  is  not  a  dungeon ! — I  am  in  bed !" 

With  these  last  words  he  had  come  to  himself,  and  oh !  the 
sad  contrast !  Butcherly  blockheads  in  these  high  places,  and 
himself  lying  sick  and  powerless,  unable  to  lift  a  hand  for  the 
cause  he  loved.  The  sigh  that  burst  from  him  seemed  to  tear 
his  very  heart ;  but  the  very  next  moment  he  put  his  hands 
humbly  together  and  said,  "God's  will  be  done!"  Yet  one  big 
tear  gathered  in  his  lion  eye,  and  spite  of  all  trickled  down 
his  cheek  while  he  said,  "God's  will  be  done." 

Susan  saw  it,  and  turned  quickly  away  and  hid  her  face ; 
but  he  called  her,  and  though  his  lip  quivered,  his  voice  was 
pretty  firm. 

"Dear  friend,  God  can  always  find  instruments.  The  good 
work  will  be  done,  though  not  by  me." 

So  then  Susan  judged  by  these  few  words,  and  the  tear 
that  trickled  from  his  closed  eyes,  that  he  saw  what  others 
saw  and  did  not  look  to  live  now. 

She  left  the  room  in  haste,  not  to  agitate  him  by  the  sor- 
row she  could  no  longer  restrain  or  conceal.  The  patient  lay 
quiet,  languidly  dozing. 

Now  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  surgeon  came 
to  the  door ;  but  what  surprised  Susan  was  that  a  man  accom- 
panied him  whom  she  only  just  knew  by  sight,  and  who  had 
never  been  there  before — the  turnkey  Hodges.  The  pair 
spoke  together  in  a  low  tone,  and  Susan,  who  was  looking 
down  from  an  upper  window,  could  not  hear  what  they  said ; 
but  the  discussion  lasted  a  minute  or  two  before  they  rang  the 
bell.  Susan  came  down  herself  and  admitted  them.  But  as 
she  was  leading  the  way  upstairs  her  aunt  suddenly  bounced 
out  of  the  parlour  looking  unaccountably  red,  and  said — 

"I  will  go  up  with  them,  Susan." 

Susan  said,  "If  you  like,  aunt,"  but  felt  some  little  surprise 
at  Mrs.  Davies'  brisk  manner. 

240 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

At  the  sick  man's  door  Mrs.  Davies  paused,  and  said  dryly, 
with  a  look  at  Hodges,  "Who  shall  I  say  is  come  with  you?" 

"Mr.  Hodges,  one  of  the  warders,  is  come  to  inquire  after 
his  reverence's  health,"  replied  the  surgeon  smoothly. 

'T  must  ask  him  first  whether  he  will  receive  a  stranger." 

"Admit  him,"  was  Mr.  Eden's  answer. 

The  men  entered  the  room,  and  were  welcomed  with  a 
kind  but  feeble  smile  from  the  sick  man. 

"Sit  down,  Hodges." 

The  surgeon  felt  his  pulse  and  wrote  a  prescription ;  for  it 
is  a  tradition  of  the  elders  that  at  each  visit  the  doctor  must 
do  some  overt  act  of  medicine.  After  this  he  asked  the  pa- 
tient how  he  felt.  Mr.  Eden  turned  an  eloquent  look  upon 
him  in  reply. 

"I  must  speak  to  Hodges,"  said  he.  "Come  near  me, 
Hodges,"  said  he  in  a  kind  voice ;  "perhaps  I  may  not  have 
many  more  opportunities  of  giving  you  a  word  of  friendly  ex- 
hortation." 

Here  a  short,  dissatisfied,  contemptuous  grunt  was  heard  at 
the  window-seat. 

"Did  you  speak,  Mrs.  Davies?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  was  the  somewhat  sharp  reply. 

"We  should  improve  every  occasion,  Mrs.  Davies,  and  I 
want  this  poor  man  to  know  that  a  dying  man  may  feel  happy 
and  hope  everything  from  God's  love  and  mercy,  if  he  has 
loved  and  pitied  his  brothers  and  sisters  of  Adam's  race." 

When  he  called  himself  a  dying  man,  Hodges,  who  was 
looking  uncomfortable  and  at  the  floor,  raised  his  head,  and 
the  surgeon  and  he  interchanged  a  rapid  look ;  it  was  ob- 
served, though  not  by  Mr.  Eden. 

That  gentleman  seeing  Hodges  wear  an  abashed  look  which 
he  misunderstood,  and  aiming  to  improve  him  for  the  fu- 
ture, not  punish  him  for  the  past,  said,  "But  first  let  me  thank 
you  for  coming  to  see  me,"  and  with  these  words  he  put  his 
hand  out  of  the  bed  with  a  kind  smile  to  Hodges.  His  gentle 
intention  was  roughly  interrupted ;  Mrs.  Davies  flung  down 
her  work  and  came  like  a  flaming  turkey-cock  across  the  floor 
in  a  moment,  and  seized  his  arm  and  flung  it  back  into  the  bed- 

"No,  ye  don't!  ye  shan't  give  your  hand  to  any  such  rub- 
bish !" 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Mrs.  Davies !" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Davies ;  you  don't  know  what  they've  come  here 
for — I  overheard  ye  at  the  door !  You  have  got  an  enemy  in 
that  fikhy  gaol,  haven't  you,  sir?  Well,  this  man  comes  from 
him  to  see  how  bad  you  are — they  were  colloguing  together 
backwards  and  forwards  ever  so  long,  and  I  heard  'em — it  is 
not  out  of  any  kindness  or  good-will  in  the  world.  Now  sup- 
pose you  march  out  the  way  you  came  in,"  screamed  Mrs. 
Davies. 

"Mrs.  Davies,  be  quiet  and  let  me  speak !" 

"Of  course  I  will,  sir,"  said  the  woman  with  a  ludicrously 
sudden  calm  and  coaxing  tone. 

There  was  a  silence ;  Mr.  Eden  eyed  the  men.  Small  guilt 
peeped  from  them  by  its  usual  little  signs. 

Mr.  Eden's  lip  curled  magnificently. 

"So  you  did  not  come  to  see  me — you  were  sent  by  that 
man.  (Mrs.  Davies,  be  quiet;  curiosity  is  not  a  crime,  like 
torturing  the  defenceless.)  Mr.  Hawes  sent  you  that  you 
might  tell  him  how  soon  his  victims  are  like  to  lose  their  only 
earthly  defender." 

The  men  coloured  and  stammered  ;  Mrs.  Davies  covered  her 
face  with  her  apron  and  rocked  herself  on  her  chair. 

Mr.  Eden  flowed  gently  on. 

"Tell  your  master  that  I  have  settled  all  my  worldly  affairs, 
and  caused  all  my  trifling  debts  to  be  paid. 

"Tell  him  that  I  have  made  my  will!  (I  have  provided  in  it 
for  the  turnkey  Evans — he  will  know  why). 

"Tell  him  you  found  my  cheeks  fallen  away,  my  eye  hol- 
low, and  my  face  squalid. 

"Tell  him  my  Bible  was  by  my  side,  and  even  the  prison 
was  mingling  with  other  memories  as  I  drifted  from  earth  and 
all  its  thorns  and  tears.  All  was  blunted  but  the  Christian's 
faith  .-nd  trust  in  his  Redeemer. 

"Tell  him  there  is  a  cold  dew  upon  my  forehead. 

"Tell  him  that  you  found  me  by  the  side  of  the  river  Jordan 
looking  across  the  cold  river  to  the  heavenly  land,  where  they 
who  have  been  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  walk  in  white 
garments,  and  seem  even  as  I  gaze  to  welcome  and  beckon  me 
to  join  them. 

"And  then  tell  him,"  cried  he  in  a  new  voice  like  a  flash  of 

242 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND 

lightning,  "that  he  has  brought  me  back  to  earth.  You  have 
come  and  reminded  me  that  if  I  die  a  wolf  is  waiting  to  tear 
my  sheep.  I  thank  you,  and  I  tell  you,"  roared  he,  "as  the 
Lord  liveth  and  as  my  soul  liveth,  I  will  not  die  but  live — and 
do  the  Lord's  work — and  put  my  foot  yet  on  that  caitiff's 
neck  who  sent  you  to  inspect  my  decaying  body,  you  poor 
tools — THE  door!" 

He  was  up  in  the  bed  like  magic,  towering  above  them  all, 
and  he  pointed  to  the  door  with  a  tremendous  gesture  and  an 
eye  that  flamed.  Mrs.  Davies  caught  the  electric  spark;  in 
a  moment  she  tore  the  door  open,  and  the  pair  bundled  down 
the  stairs  before  that  terrible  eye  and  finger. 

"Susan !  Susan !"  Susan  heard  his  elevated  voice,  and 
came  running  in   in  great  anxiety. 

"They  say  there  is  no  such  thing  as  friendship  between  a 
man  and  a  woman.  Prove  to  me  this  is  a  falsehood." — "It  is, 
sir." 

"Do  me  a  service.'' — "Ah !  what  is  it?" — 

"Go  a  journey  for  me." — "I  will  go  all  round  England 
for  you,  Mr.  Eden,"  cried  the  girl  panting  and  flushing. 

"My  writing  desk !  It  is  to  a  village  sixty  miles  from  this, 
but  you  will  be  there  in  four  hours.  In  that  village  lives  the 
man  who  can  cure  me  if  any  one  can." 

"What  will  you  take  with  you  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Davies  all  in  a 
bustle." — "A  comb  and  brush,  and  a  chemise." 

"I'll  have  them  down  in  a  twinkling." 

The  note  was  written. 

"Take  this  to  his  house,  see  him,  tell  him  the  truth,  and 
bring  him  with  you  to-morrow.  It  will  be  fifty  pounds  out 
of  his  pocket  to  leave  his  patients,  but  I  think  he  will  come. 
Oh,  yes,  he  will  come — for  auld  lang  syne." 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Eden.  God  bless  you,  aunt.  I  want  to  be 
gone ;  I  shall  bring  him  if  I  have  to  carry  him  in  my  arms." 
And  with  these  words  Susan  was  gone. 

"Now,  good  Mrs.  Davies,  give  me  the  Bible.  Often  has 
that  book  soothed  the  torn  nerves  as  well  as  the  bleeding 
heart.  And  let  no  one  come  here  to  grieve  or  vex  me  for 
twenty- four  hours,  and  fling  that  man's  draught  away ;  I 
want  to  live." 

Mrs.  Davies  had  heard  Hodges  and  Fry  aright.     Mr.  Eden, 

243 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

by  her  clue,  had  interpreted  the  visit  aright  with  this  excep- 
tion, for  he  overrated  his  own  importance  in  Mr.  Hawes's 
eyes.  For  Hawes  mocked  at  the  chaplain's  appeal  to  the 
Home  Office  ever  since  the  Office  had  made  his  tools  the  vir- 
tual referees. 

Still  a  shade  of  uneasiness  remained.  During  the  progress 
of  this  long  duel  Eden  had  let  fall  two  disagreeable  hints  :  one 
was  that  he  would  spend  a  thousand  pounds  in  setting  such 
prisoners  as  survived  Hawes's  discipline  to  indict  him,  and  the 
other  that  he  would  appeal  to  the  public  press. 

This  last  treat  had  touched  our  man  of  brass ;  for  if  there 
is  one  thing  upon  earth  that  another  thing  does  not  like,  your 
moral  malefactor,  who  happens  to  be  out  of  the  law's  reach, 
hates  and  shivers  at  the  New  Bailey  in  Printing-House 
Yard.  So,  upon  the  whole,  Mr.  Hawes  thought  that  the 
best  thing  Mr.  Eden  could  do  would  be  to  go  to  heaven 
without  any  more  fuss. 

"Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  for  all  parties." 

He  often  questioned  the  doctor  in  his  blunt  way  how  soon 
the  desired  event  might  be  expected  to  come  off,  if  at  all.  The 
doctor  still  answered  per  ambages,  ut  mos  oracuUs. 

"I  see  I  must  go  myself.  No,  I  won't;  I'll  send  Fry.  Ah! 
here  is  Hodges.  Go  and  see  the  parson,  and  come  back  and 
tell  me  whether  he  is  like  to  live  or  like  to  die.  Mr.  Sawyer 
here  can't  speak  English  about  a  patient,  he  would  do  it  to 
oblige  me  if  he  could,  but him,  he  can't." 

"Don't  much  like  the  job,"  demurred  Hodges  sulkily. 

"What  matters  what  you  like  ?  You  must  all  do  things  you 
don't  like  in  a  prison,  or  get  into  trouble." 

More  accustomed  to  obey  than  to  reflect,  Hodges  yielded, 
but  at  Mr.  Eden's  very  door,  his  commander  being  now  out  of 
sight,  his  reluctance  revived ;  and  this  led  to  an  amicable  dis- 
cussion, in  which  the  surgeon  made  him  observe  how  very 
ferocious  and  impatient  of  opposition  the  governor  had  late- 
ly become. 

"He  can  get  either  of  us  dismissed  if  we  oflfend  him." 

So  the  pair  of  cowards  did  what  they  were  bid,  and  got 
themselves  trode  upon  a  bit.  It  only  remains  to  be  said  that 
as  they  trudged  back  together  a  little  venom  worked  in  their 
little  hearts.     They  hated  both  duellists — one    for    treating 

244 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

them  like  dogs,  the  other  for  sending  them  where  they  had 
got  treated  like  dogs ;  and  they  disliked  each  other  for  seeing 
them  treated  like  dogs.  One  bitterness  they  escaped,  it  did 
not  occur  to  them  to  hate  themselves  for  being  dogs. 

If  you  force  a  strong-willed  stick  out  of  its  bent,  with  what 
fury  it  flies  back  ad  statiim  quo,  or  a  little  farther,  when  the 
coercion  is  removed.  So  hard-grained  Hawes,  his  fears  of 
the  higher  powers  removed,  returned  with  a  spring  to  his  in- 
termittent habits. 

There  was  no  incarnate  obstacle  now  to  "discipline."  There 
was  a  provisional  chaplain,  but  that  chaplain  was  worthy  Mr. 
Jones,  who  having  visited  the  town  for  a  month,  had  con- 
sented for  a  week  or  two  to  supply  the  sick  man's  place,  and 
did  supply  it  so  far  as  a  good  clock  can  replace  a  man.  View- 
ing himself  now  as  something  between  an  officer  and  a  guest, 
he  was  less  likely  to  show  fight  than  ever. 

Earnest  Hawes,  pilloried,  flung  into  black  dungeons,  stole 
beds  and  gaslight,  crushed  souls  with  mysterious  threats,  and 
bodies  with  a  horrible  mixture  of  those  tortures  that  madden 
and  those  other  tortures  that  exhaust.  No  Spanish  Inquisitor 
was  ever  a  greater  adept  at  this  double  move  than  earnest 
Hawes. 

The  means  by  which  he  could  make  any  prisoner  appear  re- 
fractory have  already  been  described,  but  in  the  case  of  one 
stout  fellow  whom  he  wanted  to  discipline,  he  now  went  a  step 
further :  he  slipped  into  the  yard  and  slily  clogged  one  of  the 
cranks  with  a  weight  which  he  inserted  inside  the  box  and 
attached  to  the  machinery.  This  contrivance  w^ould  have 
beaten  Hercules,  and  made  him  seem  idle  to  any  one  not  in 
the  secret.  In  short,  this  little  blockhead  bade  fair  to  become 
one  of  Carlyle's  great  men.  He  combined  the  earnest  sneak 
with  the  earnest  butcher. 

Barbarous  times  are  not  wholly  expunged,  as  book-makers 
affect  to  fear.  Legislators,  moralists,  and  writers  (I  don't 
include  book-makers  under  that  title)  try  to  clap  their  extin- 
guishers on  them  with  God's  help ;  but  they  still  contrive  to 
shoot  some  lurid  specimens  of  themselves  into  civilised 
epochs.  Such  a  black  ray  of  the  narrow,  self-deceiving,  stu- 
pid, bloody  past  was  earnest  Hawes. 

Not  a  tithe  of  his  exploits  can  be  recorded  here,  for  though 

245 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

he  played  upon  many  souls  and  bodies,  he  repeated  the  same 
notes — hunger,  thirst,  the  blackness  of  darkness,  crucifixion, 
solitude,  loss  of  sleep — so  that  a  description  of  all  his  feats 
would  be  a  catalogue  of  names  subjected  to  the  above  tor- 
tures, and  be  dry  as  well  as  revolting. 

I  shall  describe,  therefore,  only  the  grand  result  of  all,  and 
a  case  or  two  that  varied  by  a  shade  the  monotony  of  discip- 
line. He  kept  one  poor  lad  without  any  food  at  all  from 
Saturday  morning  till  Sunday  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  made 
him  work;  and  for  his  Sunday  dinner  gave  the  famished 
wretch  six  ounces  of  bread  and  a  can  of  water.  He  strapped 
one  prisoner  up  in  the  pillory  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  di- 
rected him  to  be  fed  in  it.  This  prisoner  had  a  short  neck, 
and  the  cruel  collar  would  not  let  him  eat,  so  that  the  tor- 
tures of  Tantalus  were  added  to  crucifixion.  The  earnest 
beast  put  a  child  of  eleven  years  old  into  a  strait-waistcoat 
for  three  days,  then  kept  him  three  days  on  bread  and  water, 
and  robbed  him  of  his  bed  and  his  gas  for  fourteen  days. 

We  none  of  us  know  the  meaning  of  these  little  punish- 
ments so  vast  beyond  our  experience ;  but  in  order  to  catch  a 
glimmer  of  the  meaning  of  the  last  item,  we  must  remember 
first  that  the  cells  admit  but  little  light,  and  that  the  gas 
is  the  prisoner's  sunlight  for  the  hour  or  two  of  rest  from 
hard  toil  that  he  is  allowed  before  he  is  ordered  to  bed,  and 
next  that  a  prisoner  has  but  two  sets  of  clothes ;  those  he 
stands  upright  in,  and  his  bed-clothes ;  these  are  rolled  up 
inside  the  bed  every  morning.  When,  therefore,  a  prisoner 
was  robbed  of  his  bed,  he  was  robbed  of  the  means  of  keep- 
ing himself  warm  as  well  as  of  that  rest  without  which  life 
soon  comes  to  a  full  stop. 

Having  victimised  this  child's  tender  body  as  aforesaid, 
Mr.  Hawes  made  a  cut  at  his  soul.     He  stopped  his  chapel. 

One  ought  not  to  laugh  at  a  worm  coming  between  an- 
other worm  and  his  God,  and  saying,  "No,  you  shall  not  hear 
of  God  to-day — you  have  displeased  a  functionary  whose  dis- 
cipline takes  precedence  of  His ;"  and  it  is  to  be  observed, 
that  though  this  blockhead  did  not  in  one  sense  comprehend 
the  nature  of  his  own  impious  act  any  more  than  a  Hottentot 
would,  yet  as  broad  as  he  saw  he  saw  keenly.  The  one 
ideaed-man  wanted  to  punish  ;  and  deprivation  of  chapel  is  a 

246 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

bitter  punishment  to  a  prisoner  under  the  separate  and  silent 
system. 

And  lay  this  down  as  a  rule:  whenever  in  this  tale  a  pun- 
ishment is  recorded  as  having  been  inflicted  by  Hawes,  how- 
ever light  it  may  appear  to  you  who  never  felt  it,  bring  your 
intelligence  to  bear  on  it  — weigh  the  other  conditions  of  a 
prisoner's  miserable  existence  it  was  added  to,  and  in  every 
case  you  will  find  it  was  a  blow  with  a  sledge-hammer ;  in 
short,  to  comprehend  Hawes  and  his  fraternity,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  make  a  mental  effort  and  comprehend  the  meaning 
of  the  word  "accumulation." 

The  first  execution  of  biped  Carter  took  place  about  a  week 
after  Mr.  Eden  was  laid  prostrate. 

It  is  not  generally  very  difficult  to  outwit  an  imbecile,  and 
the  governor  enmeshed  Carter,  made  him  out  refractory,  and 
crucified  him.  The  poor  soul  did  not  hallo  at  first,  for  he 
remembered  they  had  not  cut  his  throat  the  last  time,  as  he 
thought  they  were  going  to  do  (he  had  seen  a  pig  first  made 
fast,  then  stuck).  But  when  the  bitter  cramps  came  on,  he 
began  to  howl  and  cry  most  frightfully ;  so  that  Hawes,  who 
was  talking  to  the  surgeon  in  the  centre  of  the  building, 
started  and  came  at  once  to  the  place.  Mr.  Sawyer  came 
with  him.  They  tried  different  ways  of  quieting  him,  in  vain. 
They  went  to  a  distance,  as  Mr.  Eden  had  suggested,  but  it 
was  no  use ;  he  was  howling  now  from  pain,  not  fear. 

"Gag  him !"  roared  Hawes,  "it  is  scandalous ;  I  hate  a 
noise." 

"Better  loose  him,"  suggested  the  surgeon. 

Hawes  blighted  him  with  a  look.  "What !  and  let  him 
beat  me!" 

"There  is  no  gag  in  the  prison,"  said  Fry. 

"A  pretty  prison  without  a  gag  in  it !"  said  Hawes ;  the 
only  reflection  he  was  ever  heard  to  cast  on  his  model  gaol ; 
then  with  sudden  ferocity  he  turned  on  Sawyer.  "What  is 
the  use  of  you?  don't  you  know  anything  for  your  money? 
Can't  all  your  science  stop  this  brute's  windpipe,  you !" 

Science  thus  blandly  invoked  came  to  the  aid  of  humanity. 

"Humph !  have  you  got  any  salt  ?" 

"Salt!"  roared  Hawes,  "what  is  the  use  of  salt?  Oh,  ay, 
I  see !  run  and  get  a  pound,  and  look  sharp  with  it." 

247 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

They  brought  the  salt. 

"Now,  will  you  hold  your  noise? — then,  give  it  him." 

The  scientific  operator  watched  his  opportunity,  and  when 
the  poor  biped's  mouth  was  open  howling,  crammed  a  hand- 
ful of  salt  into  it.  He  spat  it  out  as  well  as  he  could,  but 
some  of  it,  dissolved  by  the  saliva,  found  its  way  down  his 
throat.  The  look  of  amazement  and  distress  that  followed 
was  most  amusing  to  the  operators. 

"That  was  a  good  idea,  doctor,"  cried  Hawes. 

The  triumph  was  premature.  Carter's  cries  were  choked 
for  a  moment  by  his  astonishment.  But  the  next,  finding  a 
fresh  torture  added  to  the  first,  he  howled  louder  than  ever. 
Then  the  governor  seized  the  salt,  powdered  a  good  handful, 
and  avoiding  his  teeth,  crammed  it  suddenly  into  the  poor 
creature's  mouth.  He  spat  it  furiously  out,  and  the  brine  fell 
like  seaspray  upon  all  the  operators,  especially  on  Hawes,  who 
swore  at  the  biped,  and  called  him  a  beast,  and  promised  him 
a  long  spell  of  the  cross  for  his  nastiness.  After  Hawes,  Fry 
must  take  his  turn  ;  and  so  now  these  three  creatures,  to  whom 
Heaven  had  given  reason,  combined  their  strength  and  their 
sacred  reason  to  torture  and  degrade  one  of  those  whom  the 
French  call  hetes  dii  bon  Dicu, — heaven-afflicted — heaven-pit- 
ied brother. 

They  respected  neither  the  hapless  wight  nor  his  owner. 
Whenever  he  opened  his  mouth,  with  the  instinct  that  makes 
animals  proclaim  their  hurts  and  appeal  for  pity  on  the  chance 
of  a  heart  being  within  hearing,  then  did  these  show  their 
sense  of  his  appeal  thus:  One  of  the  party  crammed  the 
stinging  salt  down  his  throat ;  the  others  watched  him,  and 
kept  clear  of  the  brine  that  he  spat  vehemently  out,  and  a 
loud  report  of  laughter  followed  instantly  each  wild  grimace, 
and  convulsion  of  fear  and  torture.  Thus  they  employed 
their  reason,  and  flouted  as  well  as  tortured  him  who  had 
less. 

"Haw !  haw !  haw !  haw !  haw !" 

No  lightning  came  down  from  heaven  upon  these  merry 
souls.  The  idiot's  spittle  did  not  burn  them  when  it  fell  on 
them.     All  the  worse  for  them. 

They  left  Carter  for  hours  in  the  pillory,  and  soon  a  vio- 
lent thirst  was    added    to  his    sufferings.     Prolonged    pain 

248 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

brings  on  cruel  thirst,  and  many  a  poor  fellow  suffered  hor- 
ribly from  it  during  the  last  hours  of  his  pillory.  But  in  this 
case  the  salt  he  had  swallowed  made  it  more  vehement.  Most 
men  go  through  life  and  never  know  thirst.  It  is  a  frightful 
torture,  as  any  novice  would  have  learned  who  had  seen 
Carter  at  six  in  the  evening  of  this  cruel  day.  The  poor 
wretch's  throat  was  so  parched  he  could  hardly  breathe;  his 
eyes  were  all  bloodshot,  and  his  livid  tongue  lolled  stringless 
and  powerless  out  of  his  gasping  mouth.  He  would  have 
given  diamonds  for  drops  of  water.  The  earnest  man,  going 
his  round  of  duty,  saw  his  pitiable  state,  and  forbade  relief 
till  the  number  of  hours  he  had  appointed  for  his  punishment 
should  be  completed.     Discipline  before  all ! 

There  was  one  man  in  the  goal,  just  one,  who  could  no 
longer  view  this  barbarity  unmoved.  His  heart  had  been 
touched  and  his  understanding  awakened,  and  he  saw  these 
prodigies  of  cruelty  in  their  true  light.  But  he  was  afraid 
of  Hawes,  and  unfortunately  the  others,  by  an  instinct,  felt 
their  comrade  was  no  longer  one  of  them,  and  watched  him 
closely ;  but  his  intelligence  was  awakened  with  his  hu- 
manity. 

After  much  thought  he  hit  upon  this :  he  took  the  works 
out  of  his  watch — an  old  hunting-watch — and  strolling  into 
the  yard,  dipped  the  case  into  the  bucket,  then  closed  it ;  and 
soon  after  getting  closer  to  Carter,  and  between  him  and  Fry, 
he  affected  to  examine  the  prisoner's  collar,  and  then  hastily 
gave  him  a  watchful  of  cold  water.  Carter  sucked  it  with 
frightful  avidity,  and,  small  as  the  draught  was,  no  mortal 
can  say  what  consequences  were  averted  by  it. 

Evans  was  dreadfully  out  of  spirits.  His  ally  lay  dying 
and  his  enemy  triumphed.  He  looked  to  be  turned  out  of  the 
gaol  at  the  next  meeting  of  magistrates.  But  when  he  had 
given  the  idiot  his  watch  to  drink  out  of,  an  unwonted  warmth 
and  courage  seemed  to  come  into  his  heart. 

This  touch  of  humanity  coming  suddenly  among  the  most 
hellish  of  all  fiends,  men  of  system,  was  like  the  little  candle 
in  a  window  that  throws  its  beams  so  far  when  we  are  be- 
wildered in  a  murky  night ;  for  the  place  was  now  a  moral 
coal-hole.  The  dungeons  at  Rome  that  lie  under  the  wing 
of  Roderick  Borgia's  successors  are  not  a  more  awful  rem- 

249 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

nant  of  antiquity,  or  a  fouler  blot  on  the  age,  on  the  law,  on 
the  land,  and  on  human  nature. 

A  thick  dark  pall  of  silence  and  woe  hung  over  its  huge 
walls.  If  a  voice  was  heard  above  a  whisper,  it  was  sure  to 
be  either  a  cry  of  anguish  or  a  fierce  command  to  inflict 
anguish.  Two  or  three  were  crucified  every  day ;  the  rest 
expected  crucifixion  from  morning  till  night.  No  man  felt 
safe  an  hour ;  no  man  had  the  means  of  averting  punishment ; 
all  were  at  the  mercy  of  a  tyrant.  Threats,  frightful,  fierce, 
and  mysterious,  hung  like  weights  over  every  soul  and  body. 
Whenever  a  prisoner  met  an  officer,  he  cowered  and  hurried, 
crouching  like  a  dog  passing  a  man  with  a  whip  in  his  hand ; 
and  as  he  passed  he  trembled  at  the  thunder  of  his  own  foot- 
steps, and  wished  to  Heaven  they  would  not  draw  so  much 
attention  to  him  by  ringing  so  clear  through  that  huge  silent 
tomb.  When  an  officer  met  the  governor,  he  tried  to  slip  by 
with  a  hurried  salute,  lest  he  should  be  stopped,  abused,  and 
sworn  at. 

The  earnest  man  fell  hardest  upon  the  young;  boys  and 
children  were  favourite  victims,  but  his  favourites  of  all  were 
poor  Robinson  and  little  Josephs.  These  were  at  the  head  of 
the  long  list  he  crucified,  he  parched,  he  famished,  he  robbed 
of  prayer,  of  light,  of  rest,  and  hope.  He  disciplined  the 
sick ;  he  closed  the  infirmary  again.  That  large  room,  fur- 
nished with  comforts,  nurses,  and  air,  was  an  inconsistency. 

"A  new  prison  is  a  collection  of  cells,"  said  Hawes.  The 
infirmary  was  a  spot  in  the  sun.  The  exercise-yard  in  this 
prison  was  a  twelve-box  stable  for  creatures  concluded  to  be 
wild  beasts.  The  labour-yard  was  a  fifteen-stall  stable  for 
ditto.  The  house  of  God  an  eighty-stalled  stable,  into  which 
the  wild  beasts  were  dispersed  for  public  worship  made  pri- 
vate. Here,  in  early  days,  before  Hawes  was  ripe,  they  as- 
sembled apart  and  repeated  prayers,  and  sang  hymns  on  Sun- 
day. But  Hawes  found  out  that  though  the  men  were  stabled 
apart,  their  voices  were  refractory  and  mingled  in  the  air, 
and  with  their  voices  their  hearts  might,  who  knows?  He 
pointed  this  out  to  the  justices,  who  shook  their  skulls  and 
stopped  the  men's  responses  and  hymns.  These  animals  cut 
the  choruses  out  of  the  English  liturgy  with  as  little  cere- 
mony and  as  good  eflfect  as  they  would  have  cut  the  choruses 

250 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

out  of  Handel's  "Messiah,"  if  the  theory  they  were  working 
had  been  a  musical  instead  of  a  moral  one. 

So  far  so  good ;  but  the  infirmary  had  escaped  Justice  Shal- 
low and  Justice  Woodcock.     Hawes  abolished  that. 

Discipline  before  all.  Not  because  a  fellow  is  sick  is  he  to 
break  discipline.  So  the  sick  lay  in  their  narrow  cells,  gasp- 
ing in  vain  for  fresh  air,  gasping  in  vain  for  some  cooling 
drink,  or  some  little  simple  delicacy  to  incite  their  enfeebled 
appetite. 

The  dying  were  locked  up  at  the  fixed  hour  for  locking  up, 
and  found  dead  at  the  fixed  hour  for  opening.  How  they 
had  died — no  one  knew.  At  what  hour  they  had  died — no 
one  knew.  Whether  in  some  choking  struggle  a  human 
hand  might  have  saved  them  by  changing  a  suffocating  posi- 
tion or  the  like — no  one  knew. 

But  this  all  knew,  that  these  our  sinful  brethren  had  died, 
not  like  men,  but  like  vultures  in  the  great  desert.  They  were 
separated  from  their  kith  and  kin,  who,  however  brutal, would 
have  said  a  kind  word  and  done  a  tender  thing  or  two  for 
them  at  that  awful  hour ;  and  nothing  allowed  them  in  ex- 
change, not  even  the  routine  attentions  of  a  prison  nurse ;  they 
were  in  darkness  and  alone  when  the  king  of  terrors  came  to 
them  and  wrestled  with  them ;  all  men  had  turned  their  back 
on  them,  no  creature  near  to  wipe  the  dews  of  death,  to  put 
a  cool  hand  to  the  brow,  or  soften  the  intensity  of  the  last 
sad  sigh  that  carried  their  souls  from  earth.  Thus  they 
passed  away,  punished  lawlessly  by  the  law  till  they  suc- 
cumbed, and  then,  since  they  were  no  longer  food  for  tor- 
ture, ignored  by  the  law  and  abandoned  by  the  human 
race. 

They  locked  up  one  dying  man  at  eight  o'clock.  At  mid- 
night the  thirst  of  death  came  on  him.  He  prayed  for  a  drop 
of  water,  but  there  was  none  to  hear  him.  Parched  and 
gasping,  the  miserable  man  got  out  of  bed  and  groped  and 
groped  for  his  tin  mug,  but  before  he  could  drink  the  death 
agony  seized  him. 

When  they  unlocked  him  in  the  morning,  they  found  him 
a  corpse  on  the  floor  with  the  mug  in  his  hand  and  the  water 
spilled  on  the  floor.  They  wrenched  the  prison  property  out 
of  its  dead  hand,  and  flung  the  carcass  itself  upon  the  bed 

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as  if  it  had  been  the  clay  cast  of  a  dog,  not  the  remains  of  a 
man. 

All  was  of  a  piece.  The  living  tortured,  the  dying  aban- 
doned, the  dead  kicked  out  of  the  way.  Of  these  three,  the 
living  were  the  most  unfortunate,  and  among  the  living  Robin- 
son and  Josephs.  Never  since  the  days  of  Cain  was  existence 
made  more  bitter  to  two  hapless  creatures  than  to  these — above 
all,  to  Josephs. 

His  day  began  thus :  Between  breakfast  and  dinner  he 
was  set  five  thousand  revolutions  of  a  heavy  crank ;  when  he 
could  not  do  it,  his  dinner  was  taken  away  and  a  few  crumbs 
of  bread  and  a  can  of  water  given  him  instead.  Between 
his  bread-and-water  time  and  six  o'clock,  if  the  famished 
worn-out  lad  could  not  do  five  thousand  more  revolutions, 
and  make  up  the  previous  deficiency,  he  was  punished  ad 
libitum.  As  the  whole  thing  from  first  to  last  was  beyond 
his  powers,  he  never  succeeded  in  performing  these  preposter- 
ous tasks.  He  was  threatened,  vilified,  and  tortured  every 
day  and  every  hour  of  it. 

Human  beings  can  bear  great  sufferings  if  you  give  them 
periods  of  ease  between;  and  beneficent  Nature  allows  for 
this,  and  when  she  means  us  to  suffer,  short  of  death,  she 
lashes  us  at  intervals ;  were  it  otherwise,  we  should  suc- 
cumb under  a  tithe  of  what  we  suffer  intermittently. 

But  Hawes,  besides  his  cruelty,  was  a  noodle.  He  be- 
longed to  a  knot  of  theorists  into  whose  hands  the  English 
gaols  are  fast  falling;  a  set  of  shallow  dreamers,  who  being 
greater  dunces  and  greater  asses  than  four  men  out  of  every 
six  that  pass  you  in  Fleet  Street  or  Broadway  at  any  hour, 
think  themselves  wiser  than  Nature  and  her  Author.  Jo- 
sephs suffered  body  and  spirit  without  intermission.  The  re- 
sult was  that  his  flesh  withered  on  his  bones;  his  eyes  were 
dim,  and  seemed  to  He  at  the  bottom  of  two  caverns;  he 
crawled  stifily  and  slowly  instead  of  walking.  He  was  not 
sixteen  years  of  age,  yet  Hawes  had  extinguished  his  youth 
and  blotted  out  all  its  signs  but  one.  Had  you  met  this  fig- 
ure in  the  street,  you  would  have  said,  "What,  an  old  man 
and  no  beard?" 

One  day  as  Robinson  happened  to  be  washing  the  corridor 
with  his  beaver  up,  what  he  took  for  a  small  but  aged  man 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

passed  him,  shambling  stiffly,  with  joints  stiffened  by  per- 
petual crucifixion  and  rheumatism,  that  had  ensued  from 
perpetually  being  wetted  through.  This  figure  had  his 
beaver  down ;  at  sight  of  Robinson  he  started,  and  instantly 
went  down  on  his  knee  and  untied  both  shoe  strings ;  then 
while  tying  them  again  slowly  he  whispered,  "Robinson,  I 
am  Josephs ;  don't  look  towards  me." 

Robinson,  scrubbing  the  wall  with  more  vigour  than  be- 
fore, whispered,  "How  are  they  using  you  now,  boy?" 

"Hush !  don't  speak  so  loud.  Robinson,  they  are  killing  me." 

"The  ruffians !  They  are  trying  all  they  know  to  kill  me 
too." 

"Fry  coming." 

"Hist !"  said  Robinson  as  Josephs  crept  away ;  and  having 
scraped  off  a  grain  of  whitewash  with  his  nail,  he  made  a 
little  white  mark  on  his  trouser  just  above  his  calf  for  Jo- 
sephs to  know  him  by,  should  they  meet  next  time  with  visors 
both  down. 

Josephs  gave  a  slight  and  rapid  signal  of  intelligence  as  he 
disappeared.  Two  days  after  this  they  met  on  the  staircase. 
The  boy,  who  now  looked  at  every  prisoner's  trousers  for 
the  white  mark,  recognised  Robinson  at  some  distance,  and 
began  to  speak  before  they  met. 

"I  can't  go  on  much  longer  like  this." 

"No  more  can  I." 

"I  shall  go  to  father." 

"Why,  where  is  he?" 

"He  is  dead." 

"I  don't  care  how  soon  I  go  there  either,  but  not  till  I 
have  sent  Hawes  on  before — not  for  all  the  world.  Pass  me, 
and  then  come  back." 

They  met  again. 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  boy,  till  his  reverence  gets  well  or 
goes  to  heaven.  If  he  lives,  he  will  save  us  somehow.  If 
he  dies — I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  I  know  where  there  is  a  brick 
I  think  I  can  loosen.  I  mean  to  smash  that  beast's  skull 
with  it,  and  then  you  will  be  all  right,  and  my  heart  will  feel 
like  a  prince." 

"Oh,  don't  do  that,"  said  Josephs  piteously.  "Better  for 
us  he  should  murder  us  than  we  him." 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Murder!"  cried  Robinson  contemptuously.  And  there 
was  no  time  to  say  any  more. 

After  this  many  days  passed  before  these  two  could  get  a 
syllable  together.  But  one  day  after  chapel,  as  the  men  were 
being  told  off  to  their  several  tasks,  Robinson  recognised  the 
boy  by  his  figure,  and  jogging  his  elbow,  withdrew  a  little 
apart ;  Josephs  followed  him,  and  this  time  Robinson  was  the 
first  speaker. 

"We  shall  never  see  Mr.  Eden  alive  again,  boy,"  said  he 
in  a  faltering  voice.  Then  in  a  low  gloomy  tone  he  mut- 
tered, "I  have  loosened  the  brick :  the  day  I  lose  all  hope  that 
day  I  send  Hawes  home."  And  the  thief  pointed  towards 
the  cellar. 

"The  day  you  have  no  more  hope,  Robinson ;  that  day  has 
come  to  me  this  fortnight  and  more.  He  tells  me  every  day 
he  will  make  my  life  hell  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  it  has  been 
nothing  else  ever  since  I  came  here." 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  boy ;  he  hasn't  long  to  live." 

"He  will  live  too  long  for  me.  I  can't  stay  here  any 
longer.  You  and  I  shan't  often  chat  together  again ;  per- 
haps never." 

"Don't  talk  so,  laddie.     Keep  up  your  heart — for  my  sake." 

One  bitter  tearing  sob  was  all  the  reply.  And  so  these 
two  parted.  This  was  just  after  breakfast.  At  dinner-time 
Josephs,  not  having  performed  an  impossible  task,  was  robbed 
of  his  dinner.  A  little  bread  and  water  was  served  out  to 
him  in  the  yard,  and  he  was  set  on  the  crank  again,  with 
fearful  menaces.  In  particular,  Mr.  Hawes  repeated  his  fa- 
vourite threat,  "I'll  make  your  life  hell  to  you."  Josephs 
groaned ;  but,  what  could  a  boy  of  fifteen  do,  over-tasked  and 
famished  for  a  month  past,  and  fitter  now  for  an  hospital 
than  for  hard  labour  of  any  sort  ?  At  three  o'clock  his  prog- 
ress on  the  crank  was  so  slow  that  Mr.  Hawes  ordered  him 
to  be  crucified  on  the  spot. 

His  obedient  myrmidons  for  the  fiftieth  time  seized  the  lad 
and  crushed  him  in  the  jacket,  throttled  him  in  the  collar, 
and  pinned  him  to  the  wall,  and  this  time,  the  first  time  for  a 
long  while,  the  prisoner  remonstrated  loudly. 

"Why  not  kill  me  at  once  and  put  me  out  of  my  misery?" 

"Hold  your  tongue." 

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i 


"You  know  I  can't  do  the  task  you  set  me.  You  know  it 
as  well  as  I  do." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  insolent  young  villain.  Strap  him 
tighter,  Fry." 

"Oh,  no !  no !  no !  don't  go  to  strap  me  tighter,  or  you  will 
cut  me  in  half — don't,  Mr.  Fry.  I  will  hold  my  tongue,  sir." 
Then  he  turned  his  hollow  mournful  eyes  on  Hawes  and  said 
gently,  "It  can't  last  much  longer,  you  know." 

"It  shall  last  till  I  break  you,  you  obstinate  whining  dog. 
You  are  hardly  used,  are  you?  Wait  till  to-morrow,  I'll 
show  you  that  I  have  only  been  playing  with  you  as  yet.  But 
I  have  got  a  punishment  in  store  for  you  that  will  make  you 
wish  you  were  in  hell." 

Hawes  stood  over  the  martyr  fiercely  threatening  him.  The 
martyr  shut  his  eyes.  It  seemed  as  though  the  enraged 
Hawes  would  end  by  striking  him.  He  winced  with  his 
eyes.  He  could  not  wince  with  any  other  part  of  his  body, 
so  tight  was  it  jammed  together,  and  jammed  against  the  wall. 

Hawes,  however,  did  but  repeat  his  threat  of  some  new 
torture  on  the  morrow  that  should  far  eclipse  all  he  had  yet 
endured ;  and  shaking  his  fist  at  his  helpless  body,  left  him 
with  his  torture. 

One  hour  of  bitter,  racking,  unremitting  anguish  had  hard- 
ly rolled  over  this  young  head,  ere  his  frame,  weakened  by 
famine  and  perpetual  violence,  began  to  give  the  usual  signs 
that  he  would  soon  sham — swoon  we  call  it  when  it  occurs 
to  any  but  a  prisoner. 

As  my  readers  have  never  been  in  Mr.  Hawes's  man-press, 
and  as  attempts  have  been  made  to  impose  on  the  inexperi- 
ence of  the  public,  and  represent  the  man-press  as  restriction, 
not  torture,  I  will  shortly  explain  why  sooner  or  later  all  the 
men  that  were  crucified  in  it  ended  by  shamming. 

Were  you  ever  seized  at  night  with  a  violent  cramp  ?  Then 
you  have  instantly  with  a  sort  of  wild  and  alarmed  rapidity 
changed  the  posture  which  had  cramped  you;  ay,  though 
the  night  was  ever  so  cold,  you  have  sprung  out  of  bed 
sooner  than  lie  cramped.  If  the  cramp  would  not  go  in  less 
than  half-a-minute,  that  half-minute  was  long  and  bitter. 
As  for  existing  cramped  half  an  hour,  that  you  never  thought 
possible.     Imagine  now   the   severest  cramp   you    ever    felt 

255 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

artificially  prolonged  for  hours  and  hours.  Imagine  yourself 
cramped  in  a  vice,  no  part  of  you  movable  a  hair's  breadth, 
except  your  hair  and  your  eyelids.  Imagine  the  fierce  cramp 
growing  and  growing,  and  rising  like  a  tide  of  agony  higher 
and  higher  above  nature's  endurance,  and  you  will  cease  to 
wonder  that  a  man  always  sunk  under  Hawes's  man-press. 
Now  then  add  to  the  cramp  a  high  circular-saw  raking  the 
throat,  jacket  straps  cutting  and  burning  the  flesh  of  the 
back ;  add  to  this  the  freezing  of  the  blood  in  the  body,  de- 
prived so  long  of  all  motion  whatever  (for  motion  of  some 
sort  or  degree  is  a  condition  of  vitality),  and  a  new  and  far 
more  rational  wonder  arises,  that  any  man  could  be  half-an- 
hour  cut,  sawed,  crushed,  cramped,  Mazeppa'd  thus,  without 
shamming — still  less  be  four,  six,  eight  hours  in  it,  and  come 
out  a  living  man. 

The  young  martyr's  lips  were  turning  blue,  his  face  was 
twitching  convulsively,  when  a  word  was  unexpectedly  put  in 
for  him  by  a  bystander. 

The  turnkey  Evans  had  been  half  sullenly,  half  sorrowfully 
watching  him  for  some  minutes  past. 

A  month  or  two  ago  the  lips  of  a  prisoner  turning  blue 
and  his  skin  twitching  told  Evans  nothing.  He  saw  these 
things  without  seeing  them.  He  was  cruel  from  stupidity — 
from  blockhead  to  butcher  there  is  but  a  step.  Like  the  Eng- 
lish public,  he  realised  nothing  where  prisoners  were  con- 
cerned. Mr.  Eden  had  awakened  his  intelligence,  and 
his  heart  waked  with  it  naturally. 

Now  when  he  saw  lips  turning  blue,  and  eyes  rolling  in  sad 
despair,  and  skin  twitching  convulsively,  it  occurred  to  him — 
"This  creature  must  be  suffering  very  badly,"  and  the  next 
step  was,  "Let  me  see  what  is  hurting  him  so." 

Evans  now  stood  over  Josephs  and  examined  him.  "Mr. 
Fry,"  said  he  doggedly,  "is  not  this  overdoing  it?" 

"What  d'ye  mean?  we  are  to  obey  orders,  I  suppose?" 

"Of  course,  but  there  was  no  need  to  draw  the  jacket  strap 
so  tight  as  all  this.    Boy's  bellows  can't  hardly  work  for  'em." 

He  now  passed  his  hand  round  the  hollow  of  the  lad's  back. 

"I  thought  so,"  cried  he ;  "I  can't  get  my  finger  between 
the  straps  and  the  poor  fellow's  flesh,  and,  good  heavens,  I 
can  feel  the  skin  rising  like  a  ridge  on  each  side  of  the  straps ; 

256 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

it  is  a  black,  burning  shame  to  use  any  Christian  like  this." 

These  words  were  hardly  out  of  the  turnkey's  mouth  when 
a  startling  cry  came  suddenly  from  poor  Josephs ;  a  sudden, 
wild,  piercing  scream  of  misery.  In  that  bitter,  despairing 
cry  burst  out  the  pent-up  anguish  of  weeks,  and  the  sense  of 
injustice  and  cruelty  more  than  human.  The  poor  thing 
gave  this  one  terrible  cry.  Heaven  forbid  that  you  should 
hear  such  a  one  in  life,  as  I  hear  his  in  my  heart,  and  then 
he  fell  to  sobbing  as  if  his  whole  frame  would  burst. 

They  were  not  much,  these  rough  words  of  sympathy,  but 
they  were  the  first — the  first  words,  too,  of  humanity  and 
reason  a  turnkey  had  spoken  in  his  favour  since  he  came  into 
this  hell.  Above  all,  the  first  in  which  it  had  ever  been  hint- 
ed or  implied  that  his  flesh  was  human  flesh.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  began  to  cry,  but  that  was  not  so  easy.  He  soon 
lost  his  breath  and  couldn't  cry,  though  his  very  life  depend- 
ed on  it.  Tears  gave  relief.  Dame  Nature  said,  "Cry,  my 
suffering  son,  cry  now,  and  relieve  that  heart  swelling  with 
cruelty  and  wrong." 

But  Hawes's  infernal  machine  said,  "No,  you  shall  not  cry. 
I  give  you  no  room  to  cry  in."  The  cruel  straps  jammed 
him  so  close,  his  swelling  heart  could  but  half  heave.  The 
jagged  collar  bit  his  throat  so  hard  he  could  but  give  three  or 
four  sobs  and  then  the  next  choked  him.  The  struggle  be- 
tween Nature  panting  and  writhing  for  relief  and  the  infernal 
man-press  was  so  bitter  strong  that  the  boy  choked  and 
blackened  and  gasped  as  one  in  the  last  agony. 

"Undo  him,"  cried  Evans  hastily,  "or  we  shall  kill  him 
amongst  us." 

"Bucket,"  said  the  experienced  Fry  quite  coolly. 

The  bucket  was  at  hand^,  its  contents  were  instantly  dis- 
charged over  Joseph's  head. 

A  cry  like  a  dying  hare — two  or  three  violent  gasps — and 
he  was  quiet,  all  but  a  strong  shiver  that  passed  from  head  to 
foot :  only  with  the  water  that  now  trickled  from  his  hair 
down  his  face,  scalding  tears  from  his  young  eyes  fell  to  the 
ground,  undistinguished  from  the  water  by  any  eye  but  God's. 

At  six  o'clock  Hawes  came  into  the  yard  and  ordered  Fry 
to  take  him  down.  Fry  took  this  opportunity  of  informing 
against  Evans  for  his  mild  interference. 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"He  will  pay  for  that  along  with  the  rest,"  said  Hawes 
with  an  oath.  Then  he  turned  on  Josephs,  who  halted  stiffly 
by  him  on  his  way  to  his  cell. 

"I'll  make  your  life  hell  to  you,  you  young  vagabond.  You 
are  hardly  used,  are  you?  all  you  have  ever  known  isn't  a 
stroke  with  a  feather  to  what  I'll  make  you  know  by-and-by. 
Wait  till  to-morrow  comes,  you  shall  see  what  I  can  do  when 
I  am  put  to  it."  Josephs  sobbed,  but  answered  nothing,  and 
crawled  sore,  stiff,  dripping,  shivering  to  his  cell.  In  that 
miserable  hole  he  would  at  least  be  at  peace. 

He  found  the  gas  lighted.  He  was  glad,  for  he  was 
drenched  through  and  bitterly  cold.  He  crept  up  to  the  little 
gaslight  and  put  his  dead  white  hands  over  it  and  got  a  little 
warmth  into  them ;  he  blessed  this  spark  of  light  and  warmth ; 
he  looked  lovingly  down  on  it,  it  was  his  only  friend  in  the 
gaol,  his  companion  in  the  desolate  cell.  He  wished  he  could 
gather  it  into  his  bosom ;  then  it  would  warm  his  heart  and 
his  blighted  flesh  and  aching  shivering  bones. 

While  he  hung  shivering  over  his  spark  of  light  and 
warmth  and  comfort,  a  key  was  put  into  his  door.  "Ah ! 
here's  supper,"  thought  he,  "and  I  am  so  hungry."  It  was 
not  supper,  it  was  Fry,  who  came  in  empty  handed,  leaving 
the  door  open.  Fry  went  to  his  gaslight  and  put  his  finger 
and  thumb  on  the  screw. 

"Oh,  it  burns  all  right,  Mr.  Fry,"  said  Josephs;  "it  won't 
go  any  higher,  thank  you." 

"No,  it  won't,"  said  Fry  drily,  and  turned  it  out,  leaving 
the  cell  in  utter  darkness. 

"There,  I  told  you  so,"  said  Josephs  pettishly ;  "now  you 
have  been  and  turned  it  out," 

"Yes,  I  have  been  and  turned  it  out,"  replied  Fry  with  a 
brutal  laugh,  "and  it  won't  be  turned  on  again  for  fourteen 
days ;  so  the  governor  says,  however,  and  I  suppose  he 
knows,"  and  Fry  went  out  chuckling. 

Josephs  burst  out  sobbing  and  almost  screaming  at  this 
last  stroke;  it  seemed  to  hurt  him  more  than  his  fiercer  tor- 
tures. He  sobbed  so  wildly  and  so  loud  that  Mr.  Jones, 
passing  on  the  opposite  corridor,  heard  him  and  beckoned  to 
Evans  to  open  the  cell. 

They  found  the  boy  standing  in  the  middle  of  his  dungeon 

258 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


shaking  with  cold  in  his  drenched  clothes,  and  sobbing  with 
his  whole  body.  It  was  frightful  to  see  and  hear  the  agony 
and  despair  of  one  so  young  in  years,  so  old  in  misery. 

Mr.  Jones  gave  him  words  of  commonplace  consolation. 
Mr.  Jones  tried  to  persuade  him  that  patience  was  the  best 
cure. 

"Be  patient,  and  do  not  irritate  the  governor  any  more ; 
the  storm  will  pass." 

He  seemed  to  Josephs  as  one  that  mocketh.  Jones's  were 
such  little  words  to  fling  in  the  face  of  a  great  despair ;  to 
chatter  unreasonable  consolation  was  to  mock  his  unutterable 
misery  of  soul  and  body, 

Mr.  Jones  was  one  of  those  who  sprinkle  a  burning  moun- 
tain with  a  tea-spoonful  of  milk  and  water,  and  then  go  away 
and  make  sure  they  have  put  it  out.  When  he  was  gone 
with  this  impression,  Evans  took  down  the  boy's  bed  and 
said — 

"Don't  ye  cry  now  like  that ;  it  makes  me  ill  to  hear  any 
Christian  cry  like  that." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Evans!  oh!  oh!  oh!  oh!  What  have  I  done? 
Oh,  my  mother!  my  mother!  my  mother!" 

Evans  winced.  What!  had  he  a  mother  too?  If  she  could 
see  him  now !  and  perhaps  he  was  her  darling,  though  he  was 
a  prisoner.  He  shook  the  bed-clothes  out,  and  took  hold  of 
the  shivering  boy,  and  with  kind  force  made  him  lie  down ; 
then  he  twisted  the  clothes  tight  round  him. 

"You  will  get  warm,  if  you  will  but  lie  quiet  and  not  think 
about  it." 

Josephs  did  what  he  was  bid.  He  could  not  still  his  sobs, 
but  he  turned  his  mournful  eyes  on  Evans  with  a  look  of 
wonder  at  meeting  with  kindness  from  a  human  being,  and 
half  doubtingly  put  out  his  hand.  So  then  Evans,  to  comfort 
him,  took  his  hand  and  shook  it  several  times  in  his  hard 
palm,  and  said — 

"Good  night.  You'll  soon  get  warm ;  and  don't  think  of  it 
— that  is  the  best  way ;"  and  Evans  ran  away  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  for  the  look  of  astonishment  the  boy  wore  at 
his  humanity  went  through  the  man's  penitent  heart  like  an 
arrow. 

Josephs  lay  quiet,  and  his  sobs  began  gradually  to  go  down, 

259 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

and,  as  Evans  had  predicted,  some  little  warmth  began  to 
steal  over  his  frame ;  but  he  could  not  comply  vi^ith  all  Evans's 
instructions ;  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  it.  For  all  that, 
as  soon  as  he  got  a  little  warm,  Nature,  who  knew  how  much 
her  tortured  son  needed  repose,  began  to  weigh  down  his  eye- 
lids, and  he  dozed.  He  often  started,  he  often  murmured  a 
prayer  for  pity  as  his  mind  acted  over  again  the  scenes  of 
his  miserable  existence ;  but  still  he  dozed,  and  sleep  was 
stealing  over  him.  Sleep !  life's  nurse  sent  from  heaven  to 
create  us  anew  day  by  day ! — sleep !  that  has  blunted  and 
gradually  cured  a  hundred  thousand  sorrows  for  one  that 
has  yielded  to  any  moral  remedy — sleep  !  that  has  blunted  and 
so  cured  by  degrees  a  million  fleshly  ills  for  one  that  drugs  or 
draughts  have  ever  reached — sleep  had  her  arm  round  this 
poor  child,  and  was  drawing  him  gently,  gently,  slowly,  slow- 
ly, to  her  bosom,  when  suddenly  his  cell  seemed  to  him  to  be 
all  in  a  blaze,  and  a  rough  hand  shook  him,  and  a  harsh  voice 
sounded  in  his  ear. 

"Come,  get  out  of  that,  youngster,"  it  said,  and  the  hand 
almost  jerked  him  off  the  floor, 

"What  is  the  matter?"  inquired  Josephs,  yawning. 

"Matter  is,  I  want  your  bed." 

Josephs  rose  half  stupid,  and  Hodges  rolled  up  his  bed  and 
blanket. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  rob  me  of  my  bed?"  inquired 
Josephs  slowly  and  firmly. 

"Rob  you,  you  young  dog?  Here  is  the  governor's  order. 
No  bed  and  gas  for  fourteen  days." 

"No  bed  nor  gas  for  fourteen  days  ?    Ha !  ha  !  ha !  ha !  ha !" 

"Oh,  you  laugh  at  that,  do  you?" 

"I  laugh  at  Mr.  Hawes  thinking  to  keep  me  out  of  bed  for 
fourteen  days,  a  poor  worn-out  boy  like  me.  You  tell  Hawes 
I'll  find  a  bed  in  spite  of  him  long  before  fourteen  days." 

Hodges  looked  about  the  cell   for  this   other  bed. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "you  mustn't  chaff  the  officers.  The  gov- 
ernor will  serve  you  out  enough  without  your  giving  us  any 
of  your  sauce." 

Hodges  was  going  with  the  bed.  Josephs  stopped  him. 
The  boy  took  this  last  blow  quite  differently  from  the  gas ;  no 
impatience  or  burst  of  sorrow  now. 

260 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


I 

^^P      "Won't  you  bid  me  good-bye,   Mr.  Hodges?"  asked  he. 
^M       "Why  not?    Goodnight." 

^H       "That  isn't  what  I  mean.     Mr.  Evans  gave  me  his  hand." 
^1       "Did  he?  what  for?" 

^^r  "And  so  must  you.  Oh,  you  may  as  well,  Mr.  Hodges.  I 
never  came  to  you  and  took  away  your  little  bit  of  light  and 
your  little  bit  of  sleep.  So  you  can  take  my  hand,  if  I  can 
give  it  you.     You  will  be  sorry  afterwards  if  you  say  no." 

"There  it  is ;  what  the  better  are  you  for  that,  you  young 
fool?  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  you  are  turning  soft.  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  you.  I  shall  come  to  your  cell  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"Ay,  do,  Mr.  Hodges,"  said  Josephs,  "and  then  you  won't 
be  sorry  you  shook  hands  at  night." 

At  this  moment  the  boy's  supper  was  thrust  through  the 
trap-door;  it  was  not  the  supper  by  law  appointed,  but  six 
ounces  of  bread  and  a  can  of  water. 

Hodges,  now  that  he  had  touched  the  prisoner's  hand,  felt 
his  first  spark  of  something  bordering  on  sympathy.  He 
looked  at  the  grub  half  ashamed,  and  made  a  wry  face.  Jo- 
sephs caught  his  look  and  answered  it. 

"It  is  as  much  as  I  shall  want,"  said  he  very  calmly,  and  he 
smiled  at  Hodges  as  he  spoke,  a  sweet  and  tender  but  dogged 
smile;  a  smile  to  live  in  a  man's  memory  for  years. 

The  door  was  closed  with  a  loud  snap,  and  Josephs  was 
left  to  face  the  long  night  (it  was  now  seven  o'clock)  in  his 
wet  clothes,  which  smoked  with  the  warmth  his  late  bed  had 
begun  to  cherish ;  but  they  soon  ceased  to  smoke  as  the  boy 
froze. 

Night  advanced.  Josephs  walked  about  his  little  cell,  his 
teeth  chattering,  then  flung  himself  like  a  dead  log  on  the 
floor,  and  finding  Hawes's  spirit  in  the  cold,  hard  stone,  rose 
and  crawled  shivering  to  and  fro  again. 

Meantime  we  were  all  in  our  nice  soft  beds ;  such  as  found 
three  blankets  too  little  added  a  dressing-gown  of  flannel, 
or  print  lined  with  wadding  or  fleecy  hosiery,  and  so  made 
shift.  In  particular,  all  those  who  had  the  care  of  Josephs 
took  care  to  lie  warm  and  soft.  Hawes,  Jones,  Hodges.  Fry, 
Justices  Shallow  and  Woodcock,  all  took  the  care  of  their 
own  carcasses  they  did  not  take  of  Josephs'  youthful  frame. 

261 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Be  cold  at  night?     Not  if  we  know  it;  why,  you  can't 
sleep  if  you  are  not  thoroughly  warm !" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MIDNIGHT! 
Josephs  was  crouched  shivering  under  the  door  of 
his  cell,  listening. 

"All  right  now.     I  think  they  are  all  asleep;  now  is  the 
time." 

Hawes,    Hodges,    Jones,    Fry,    were    snoring    without    a 
thought  of   him  they  had   left   to  pass   the   live-long  night 
clothed  in  a  sponge,  cradled  on  a  stone. 
DoRMEZ,  messieurs!  tout  est  tranouille;  dormez! 


CHAPTER   XX. 

PAST  one  o'clock ! 
The  moon  was  up,  but  often  obscured ;  clouds  drifted 
swiftly  across  her  face;  it  was  a  cold  morning — past  one 
o'clock.  Josephs  was  at  his  window,  standing  tiptoe  on  his 
stool.  Thoughts  coursed  one  another  across  his  broken  heart 
as  fast  as  the  clouds  flew  past  the  moon's  face ;  but  what- 
ever their  nature,  the  sting  was  now  out  of  them.  The  bitter 
sense  of  wrong  and  cruelty  was  there,  but  blunted.  Fear 
was  nearly  extinct,  for  hope  was  dead. 

There  was  no  tumult  in  his  mind  now ;  he  had  gone 
through  all  that,  and  had  got  a  step  beyond  grief  or  pain. 

Thus  ran  his  thoughts :  "I  wonder  what  Hawes  was  go- 
ing to  do  with  me  to-morrow.  Something  worse  than  all  I 
have  gone  through,  he  said.  That  seems  hard  to  believe. 
But  I  don't  know.  Best  not  give  him  the  chance.  He 
does  know  how  to  torture  one.  Well,  he  must  keep  it  for 
some  other  poor  fellow.  I  hope  it  won't  be  Robinson.  I'll 
have  a  look  at  out-a-doors  first.  Ah !  there  is  the  moon.  I 
wonder  does  she  see  what  is  done  here :  and  there  is  the 
sky ;  it  is  a  beautiful  place. 

262 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Who  would  stay  here  under  Hawes  if  they  could  get  up 
there?  God  lives  up  there!  I  am  almost  afraid  He  won't 
let  a  poor  wicked  boy  like  me  come  where  He  is.  And  they 
sav  this  is  a  sin  too :  He  will  be  angry  with  me — but  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  shall  tell  Him  what  I  went  through  first, 
and  perhaps  He  will  forgive  me.  His  reverence  told  me  He 
takes  the  part  of  those  that  are  ill-used.  It  will  be  a  good 
job  for  me  if  'tis  so.  Perhaps  He  will  serve  Hawes  out  for 
this  instead  of  me ;  I  think  I  should  if  I  was  Him.  I  know 
He  can't  be  so  cruel  as  Hawes ;  that  is  my  only  chance,  and 
I'm  going  to  take  it. 

"Some  folk  live  to  eighty ;  I  am  only  fifteen ;  that  is  a 
long  odds,  I  dare  say  it  is  five  times  as  long  as  fifteen.  It 
is  hard;  but  I  can't  help  it.  Hawes  wouldn't  let  me  live  to 
be  a  man ;  he  is  stronger  than  I  am.  Will  it  be  a  long  }ob, 
I  wonder.  Some  say  it  hurts  a  good  deal;  some  think  not. 
I  shall  soon  know;  but  I  shall  never  tell.  That  doesn't 
trouble  me ;  it  is  only  throttling  when  all  is  done,  and  ain't 
I  throttled  every  day  of  my  Hfe.  Shouldn't  I  be  throttled 
to-morrow  if  I  was  such  a  spoon  as  to  see  to-morrow.  I 
mustn't  waste  much  more  time,  or  my  hands  will  be  crippled 
with  cold^  and  then  I  shan't  be  able  to. 

"Mr  Evans  will  be  sorry — I  can't  help  it.  Bless  him  for 
being  so  good  to  me ;  and  bless  Mr.  Eden ;  I  hope  he  will 
get  better,  I  do.  My  handkerchief  is  old.  I  hope  it  wont 
break;  oh,  no!  there  is  no  fear  of  that.  I  don't  weigh  half 
what  I  did  when  I  came  here. 

"My  mother  will  fret;  but  I  can't  help  it.  Oh  dear!  oh 
dear!  oh  dear!  I  hope  some  one  will  tell  her  what  I  went 
through  first,  and  then  she  will  say  'better  so  than  for  my 
body  to  be  abused  worse  than  a  dog  every  day  of  my  life.' 
I  can't  help  it!  and  I  should  be  dead  any  way  before  the 
fourteen  days  were  out. 

"Now  is  as  good  a  time  as  any  other ;  no  one  is  stirring, 
no.  Please  forgive  me,  mother.  I  couldn't  help  it.  Please 
forgive  me,  God  Almighty,  if  you  care  what  a  poor  boy 
like  me  does  or  is  done  to.    I  couldn't  help  it." 

Il   est  deux   heures;  tout  est  tranquille;  dormez, 

MAiTRES,  DORMEZ! 

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IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IT  was  a  bright  morning.  The  world  awoke.  The  work- 
ing Englishman,  dead  drunk  at  the  public-house  over- 
night, had  got  rid  of  two-thirds  of  his  burning  poison  by 
help  of  man's  chief  nurse,  sleep;  and  now  he  must  work  off 
the  rest,  grumbling  at  this  the  kind  severity  of  his  lot. 
Warm  men,  respectable  men,  amongst  whom  justices  of  the 
peace  and  other  voluptuous  disciplinarians,  were  tempted  out 
of  delicious  beds  by  the  fragrant  berry,  the  balmy  leaf, 
snowy  damask,  fire  glowing  behind  polished  bars — in  short, 
by  multifarious  comfort  set  in  a  frame  of  gold.  They  came 
down. 

'•*How  did  yoii  sleep,  dear  sir?" 

"Pretty  well,"  said  one  with  a  doubtful  air. 

"Scarce  closed  my  eyes  all  night,"  snarled  another. 

Another  had  been  awoke  by  the  barking  of  a  dog,  and 
it  was  full  half-an-hour  before  he  could  lose  the  sense  of 
luxurious  ease  in  unconsciousness  again.  He  made  an  in- 
cident of  this,  and  looked  round  the  table  for  sympathy, 
and  obtained  it,  especially  from  such  as  were  toadies. 

Now,  all  these  had  slept  as  much  as  nature  required.  No. 
I,  ar  hyd  y  nos—Ttavvvxiov — like  a  top.  No.  2,  eight  hours 
out  of  the  nine.  The  ninth,  his  sufferings  had  been  moder- 
ate; they  had  been  confined  to  this — a  bitter  sense  of  two 
things — first,  that  he  was  lying  floating  in  a  sea  of  comforts ; 
secondly,  that  the  moment  he  should  really  need  sleep,  sleep 
was  at  his  service. 

In  Gaol,  governor,  turnkeys,  chaplain,  having  had 

something  to  do  the  day  before,  slept  among  Class  i,  and 
now  turned  out  of  their  warm  beds  as  they  had  turned  into 
them,  without  a  shade  of  anxiety  or  even  recollection  of 
him  whom  they  had  left  last  evening  at  eight  to  pass  the 
livelong  night  in  a  sponge  upon  a  stone. 

Up  rose,  refreshed  with  sleep,  that  zealous  officer,  Hawes. 
He  was  in  the  prison  at  daybreak,  and  circulated  with  in- 
specting eye  all  through  it.  Went  into  the  kitchen,  saw  the 
gruel  making;  docked  Josephs  and  three  more  of  half  their 
allowance;  then  into  the  corridors,  where, on  one  of  the  snowy 

264 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


walls,  he  found  a  speck ;  swore ;  had  it  instantly  removed. 
Thence  into  the  labour-yard,  and  prepared  a  crank  for  an 
athletic  prisoner  by  secretly  introducing  a  weight,  and  so 
making  the  poor  crank  a  story-teller,  and  the  prologue  to 
punishment.  Returning  to  the  body  of  the  prison,  he  called 
out,  "Prisoners  on  the  list  for  hard  labour  to  be  taken  to  the 
yard." 

He  was  not  answered  with  the  usual  alacrity,  and  looked 
up  to  repeat  his  summons,  when  he  observed  a  cell  open, 
and  two  turnkeys  standing  in  earnest  conversation  at  the 
door.    He  mounted  the  stairs  in  great  heat. 

''What  are  you  all  humbugging  there  for,  and  why  does 
not  that  young  rascal  turn  out  to  work?  I'll  physic  him, 
him !" 

The  turnkeys  looked  in  their  chief's  face  with  a  strange 
expression  of  stupid  wonder.  Hawes  caught  this — his  wrath 
rose  higher. 

"What  d'ye   stand   staring  at  me  like  a  stuck  pig  for? 

Come  out,  No.  15, you  all!    Why  don't  you  bring  him 

out  to  the  crank?" 

Hodges  answered  gloomily  from  the  cell,  "Come  and 
bring  him  yourself,  if  you  can." 

At  such  an  address  from  a  turnkey,  Hawes,  who  had 
now  mounted  the  last  stair,  gave  a  snort  of  surprise  and 
wrath — then  darted  into  the  cell^  threatening  the  most  hor- 
rible vengeance  on  the  bones  and  body  of  poor  Josephs, 
threats  which  he  confirmed  with  a  tremendous  oath.  But  to 
that  oath  succeeded  a  sudden  dead  stupid  staring  silence; 
for  running  fiercely  into  the  cell  with  rage  in  his  face, 
threats  and  curses  on  his  tongue,  he  had  almost  stumbled 
over  a  corpse. 

It  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  cell — stark  and  cold,  but  peace- 
ful. Hawes  stood  over  it.  If  he  had  not  stopped  short, 
his  foot  would  have  been  upon  it.  His  mouth  opened  but 
no  sound  came.  He  stood  paralysed.  A  greater  than  he 
was  in  that  cell,  and  he  was  dumb.  He  looked  up.  Hodges 
and  Fry  were  standing  silent  looking  down  on  the  body. 
Fry  was  grave:  Hodges  trembled.  Part  of  a  handkerchief 
fluttered  from  the  bar  of  the  window.  A  knife  had  severed 
it.     The   other   fragment  lay   on   the   floor   near  the  body 

265 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

where  Hodges  had  dropped  it.  Hawes  took  this  in  at  a 
glance,  and  comprehended  it  all.  This  was  not  the  first  or 
second  prisoner  that  had  escaped  him  by  a  similar  road. 
For  a  moment  his  blood  froze  in  him.  He  wished  to 
heaven  he  had  not  been  so  severe  upon  the  poor  boy. 

It  was  but  a  moment.  The  next  he  steeled  himself  in 
the  tremendous  egotism  that  belongs  to  and  makes  the  de- 
liberate manslayer. 

"The  young  viper  has  done  this  to  spite  me,"  said  he;  and 
he  actually  cast  a  look  of  petulant  anger  down. 

At  this  precise  point,  the  minds  that  had  borne  his  com- 
pany so  long  begun  to  part  from  it.  Fry  looked  in  his  face 
with  an  expression  bordering  on  open  contempt,  and  Hodges 
shoved  rudely  by  him  and  left  the  cell. 

Hodges  leaned  over  the  corridor  in  silence.  One  of  the 
inferior  turnkeys  asked  him  a  question,  dictated  by  curi- 
osity, about  the  situation  in  which  he  had  found  the  body. 
"Don't  speak  to  me !"  was  the  fierce  wild  answer.  And  he 
looked  with  a  stupid  wild  stare  over  the  railings. 

So  wild  and  white  and  stricken  was  this  man's  face,  that 
Evans,  who  was  exchanging  some  words  with  a  gentleman 
on  the  basement  floor,  happening  to  catch  sight  of  it,  inter- 
rupted himself  and  hallooed  from  below,  "What,  is  there 
anything  the  matter,  Hodges?"  Hodges  made  no  reply. 
The  man  seemed  to  have  lost  his  speech  for  some  time  past. 

"Let  us  go  and  see,"  said  the  gentleman ;  and  he  ascended 
the  steps  somewhat  feebly,  accompanied  by  Evans. 

"What  is  it,  Hodges?" 

"What  is  it !"  answered  the  man  impatiently.  "Go  in  there, 
and  you'll  see  what  it  is !" 

"I  don't  like  this,  sir,"  said  Evans.  "Oh,  I  am  fearful 
there  is  something  unfortunate  has  happened.  You  mustn't 
come  in,  sir.  You  stay  here,  and  I'll  go  in  and  see.'*  He 
entered  the  cell. 

Meantime,  a  short  conference  had  passed  between  Hawes 
and  Fry. 

"This  is  a  bad  business.  Fry." 

"And  no  mistake." 

"Had  you  any  idea  of  this?" 

"No!  can't  say  I  had." 

266 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"If  the  parson  ever  gets  well,  he  will  make  this  a  handle 
to  ruin  you  and  me." 

"Me,  sir !     I  only  obey  orders." 

"That  won't  save  you.  If  they  get  the  better  of  me,  you 
will  suffer  along  with  me." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  I  told  you  you  were  carrying  it  too 
far,  but  you  wouldn't  listen  to  me." 

"I  was  wrong,  Fry.  I  ought  to  have  listened  to  you,  for 
you  are  the  only  one  that  is  faithful  to  me  in  the  gaol." 

"I  know  my  duty,  sir,  and  I  try  to  do  it." 

"What  are  we  to  do  with  him,  Fry?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  lie  on  the  floor.  I'd  let 
him  have  his  bed  now,  I  think." 

"You  are  right.  I'll  send  for  it.  Ah !  here  is  Evans.  Go 
for  No.   15's  bed." 

Evans,  standing  at  the  door,  had  caught  but  a  glimpse 
of  the  object  that  lay  on  the  floor,  but  that  glimpse  was 
enough.  He  went  out  and  said  to  Hodges,  "Wasn't  it  you 
that  took  Josephs'  bed  away  last  night?"  The  man  cowered 
under  the  question.  "Well,  you  are  to  go  and  fetch  it  back, 
the  governor  says." 

Hodges  went  away  for  it  without  a  word.  Evans  re- 
turned to  the  cell.  He  came  and  kneeled  down  by  Josephs 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  him.  "I  feared  it !  I  feared  it !"  said 
he.  "Why,  he  has  been  dead  a  long  time.  Ah !  your  re- 
verence, why  did  you  come  in  when  I  told  you  not?  Poor 
Josephs  is  no  more,  sir." 

Mr.  Eden,  who  had  already  saluted  Mr.  Hawes  with  grave 
politeness,  though  without  any  affectation  of  good-will,  came 
slowly  up,  and,  sinking  his  voice  to  a  whisper  in  presence 
of  death,  said  in  pitiful  accents,  "Poor  child !  he  was  al- 
ways sickly.  Six  weeks  ago  I  feared  we  should  lose  him, 
but  he  seemed  to  get  better."  He  was  now  kneeling  be- 
side him.  "Was  he  long  ill,  sir?"  asked  he  of  Hawes. 
"Probably  he  was,  for  he  is  much  wasted.  I  can  feel  all 
his  bones."  Hardened  as  they  were,  Hawes  and  Fry  looked 
at  one  another  in  some  confusion.  Presently  Mr.  Eden 
started  back.  "Why,  what  is  this?  he  is  wet.  He  is  wet 
from  head  to  foot.  What  is  the  cause  of  this?  Can  you 
tell  me,  Mr.  Hawes?" 

267 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Hawes  did  not  answer,  but  Evans  did.  • 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  the  bucket,  your  reverence.  They 
soused  him  in  the  yard  late  last  night." 

"Did  they?"  said  Mr.  Eden,  looking  the  men  full  in  the 
face.  "Then  they  have  the  more  to  repent  of  this  morning. 
But  stay !  Why  then,  he  was  not  under  the  doctor's  hands, 
Evans?" 

"La !  bless  you,  no.  He  was  harder  worked  and  worse 
fed  than  any  man  in  the  gaol." 

"At  work  last  night !  Then  at  what  hour  did  he  die  ?  He 
is  stiff  and  cold.  This  is  a  very  sudden  death.  Did  any  one 
see  this  boy  die?" 

The  men  gave  no  answer,  but  the  last  words — "Did  any 
one  see  this  boy  die?"  seemed  to  give  Evans  a  new  light. 

"No,"  he  cried,  "no  one  saw  him  die.  Look  here,  sir.  See 
what  is   dangling  from  the  window — his  handkerchief." 

"And  this  mark  round  his  throat,  Evans.  He  has  de- 
stroyed himself !"    And  Mr.  Eden  recoiled  from  the  corpse. 

"Oh,  you  may  forgive  him,  sir,"  said  Evans.  "We  should 
all  have  done  the  same.  No  human  creature  could  live  the 
life  they  led  him.  Who  could  live  upon  bread  and  water 
and  punishment?  It  is  a  sorrowful  sight,  but  it  is  a  happy 
release  for  him.  Eh !  poor  lad,"  said  Evans,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  body;  "I  liked  thee  well,  but  I  am  glad  thou  art 
gone.    Thou  hast  escaped  away  from  worse  trouble." 

"Come,  it  is  no  use  snivelling,  Evans,"  put  in  Hawes.  "I 
am  as  sorry  for  this  job  as  you  are.  But  who  would  have 
thought  he  was  so  determined?    He  gave  us  no  warning." 

"Don't  you  believe  that,  sir,"  cried  Evans  to  Mr.  Eden. 
"He  gave  them  plenty  of  warning.  I  heard  him  with  my 
own  ears  tell  you  you  were  killing  him ;  not  a  day  for  the 
last  fortnight  he  did  not  tell  you  so,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"Well,  I  didn't  believe  him,  you  see." 

"You  mean  you  didn't  care." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Evans !  You  are  disrespectful.  How 
dare  you  speak  to  me,  you  insolent  dog?    Hold  your  tongue !" 

"No,  sir,  I  won't  hold  my  tongue  over  this  dead 
body." 

"Be  silent,  Evans,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "This  is  no  place  for 
disputes,     Evans,  mv  heart  is  broken.     While  there  is  life 

268 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

there  is  hope;  but  here,  what  hope  is  there?  Many  in  this 
place  Hve  in  crime,  but  this  one  has  died  in  crime;  he  of 
whom  I  had  such  good  hopes  has  died  in  crime — died  by  his 
own  hand;  he  has  murdered  his  own  soul.  My  heart  is 
broken !  my  heart  is  broken !" 

The  good  man's  anguish  was  terrible. 

Evans  consoled  him.  "Don't  go  on  so,  sir;  pray  don't. 
Josephs  is  where  none  of  us  but  you  shall  ever  get  to ;  he 
is  in  heaven  as  sure  as  we  are  upon  earth.  He  was  the  best 
lad  in  the  place;  there  wasn't  a  drop  of  gall  in  him;  who 
ever  heard  a  bad  word  from  him  ?  And  he  did  not  kill  him- 
self till  he  found  he  was  to  die  whether  or  no;  so  then  he 
shortened  his  own  death-struggle,  and  he  was  right." 

'T  don't  understand  you." 

"I  dare  say  not,  sir;  but  those  two  understand  me.  Oh, 
it  is  no  use  to  look  black  at  me  now,  Mr.  Hawes ;  I  shall 
speak  my  mind  though  my  head  was  to  be  cut  off.  I  have 
been  a  coward ;  I  thought  too  much  of  my  wife  and  children ; 
but  I  am  a  man  now.  Eh !  poor  lad,  thou  shan't  be  maligned 
now  thou  art  dead,  as  well  as  tormented  alive.  Sir,  he  that 
lies  here  so  pale  and  calm  was  not  guilty  of  self-destruction. 
He  was  driven  to  death !  Don't  speak  to  me,  sir,  but  look 
at  me  and  hear  the  truth,  as  it  will  come  out  the  day  all  of 
us  in  this  cell  are  damned,  except  you — and  him !" 

The  man  fell  suddenly  on  his  knees,  took  the  dead  boy's 
hand  in  his  left  hand,  and  held  his  right  up,  and  in  this 
strange  attitude,  which  held  all  his  hearers  breathless,  he 
poured  out  a  terrible  tale. 

His  boiling  heart,  and  the  touch  of  him  whom  now  too 
late  he  defended  like  a  man,  gave  him  simple  but  real  elo- 
quence, and  in  few  words,  that  scalded  as  they  fell,  he  told 
as  powerfully  as  I  have  feebly  by  what  road  Josephs  had 
been  goaded  to  death. 

He  brought  the  dark  tale  down  to  where  he  left  the  suf- 
ferer rolled  up  in  the  one  comfort  left  him  on  earth,  his 
bed ;  and  then  turning  suddenly,  and  leaving  Josephs,  he 
said  sternly — ■ 

"And  now,  sir,  ask  the  governor  where  is-  the  bed  I 
wrapped   the  wet  boy  up  in,  for  it  isn't  here." 

"You  know  as  much  as  I  do !"  was  Hawes's  sulky  reply. 

269 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

But  at  this  moment  Hodges  came  into  the  cell  with  the  bed 
in  question  in  his  arms. 

"There  is  his  bed,"  cried  he,  "and  what  is  the  use  of  it 
now?  If  you  had  left  it  him  last  night,  it  would  be  better 
for  him  and  for  me  too,"  and  he  flung  the  bed  on  the  floor. 

"Oh,  it  was  you  took  it  from  him,  was  it  ?"  said  Evans. 

"Well,  I  am  here  to  obey  orders.  Jack  Evans;  do  you  do 
nothing  but  what  you  like  in  this  place?" 

"Let  there  be  no  disputing  in  presence  of  death?" 

"No,  sir." 

"One  thing  only  is  worth  knowing  or  thinking  of  now ; 
whether  there  is  hope  for  this  our  brother  in  that  world  to 
which  he  has  passed  all  unprepared.  Hodges,  you  saw  him 
last  alive!" 

Hodges  groaned.  "I  saw  him  last  at  night  and  first  in 
the  morning." 

"I  entreat  you  to  remember  all  that  passed  at  night  be- 
tween you!" 

"Then  cover  up  his  face — it  draws  my  eyes  to  it." 

Mr.  Eden  covered  the  dead  face  gently  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

"Mr.  Hawes  met  me  in  the  corridor  and  sent  me  to  take 
away  his  bed.  I  found  him  dozing,  and  I  took  it — I  did  what 
I  was  ordered." 

Mr.  Eden  sighed. 

"Tell  me  what  he  said  and  did." 

"Well,  sir,  when  I  showed  him  the  order,  'fourteen  days 
without  bed  and  gas,'  he  bursts  out  a  laughing " 

"Good  heavens  I" 

"And  says  he,  T  don't  say  for  gas,  but  you  tell  Mr. 
Hawes  I  shan't  be  without  bed  nothing  nigh  so  long  as 
that.' " 

Mr,  Eden  and  Evans  exchanged  a  meaning  glance;  so  did 
Fry  and  Hawes. 

"Then  I  said,  'No,  I  shan't  tell  Mr.  Hawes  anything  to 
make  him  punish  you  any  more,  because  you  are  punished 
too  much  as  it  is,'  says  I " 

"I  am  glad  you  said  that.  But  tell  me  what  he  said. 
Did  he  complain?  did  he  use  angry  or  bitter  words?  You 
make  me  drag  it  out  of  you." 

270 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"  "No,  he  didn't !  He  wasn't  one  of  that  sort !  The  next 
thing  was,  he  asked  me  to  give  him  my  hand.  Well,  I  was 
surprised  like  at  his  asking  for  my  hand,  and  I  doing  him 
such  an  ill-turn.  So  then  he  said,  'Mr.  Hodges,'  says  he, 
'why  not?  I  never  took  away  your  bed  from  under  you, 
so  you  can  give  me  your  hand,  if  I  give  you  mine.'  " 

"Oh,  what  a  beautiful  nature !  Ah !  these  are  golden 
words !  I  hope,  for  the  credit  of  human  nature,  you  gave 
him  your  hand." 

"Why,  of  course  I  did,  sir.  I  had  no  malice ;  it  was  igno- 
rance, and  owing  to  being  so  used  to  obey  the  governor." 

Here  Mr.  Hawes,  who  had  remained  quiet  all  this  time, 
now  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  now  listening  sullenly 
to  these  strange  scenes  in  which  the  dead  boy  seemed  for 
a  time  to  have  eclipsed  his  importance,  burst  angrily  in — 

"I  have  listened  patiently  to  you,  Mr.  Eden,  to  see  how 
far  you  would  go ;  but  I  see  if  I  wait  till  you  leave  off  under- 
mining me  with  my  servants,  I  may  wait  a  long  while." 

Mr.  Eden  turned  round  impatiently. 

"You !  who  thinks  of  you,  or  such  as  you,  in  presence  of 
such  a  question  as  lies  here?  I  am  trying  to  learn  the  fate 
of  this  immortal  soul,  and  I  did  not  see  you,  or  think  of 
you,  or  notice  you  were  here." 

"That  is  polite !  Well,  sir,  the  governor  is  somebody  in 
most  gaols,  but  it  seems  he  is  to  be  nobody  here  so  long  as 
you  are  in  it,  and  that  won't  be  long.  Come,  Fry,  we  have 
other  duties  to  attend  to."  So  saying,  he  and  his  lieutenant 
went  out  of  the  cell. 

Hodges  went  too,  but  not  with  them. 

The  moment  they  were  gone,  "Well,  sir,"  burst  out  Evans, 
"don't  you  see  that  the  real  murderer  is  not  that  stupid, 
ignorant  owl,  Hodges?" 

"Hush !  Evans ;  this  is  no  time  or  place  for  unkindly 
thoughts ;  thank  Heaven  that  you  are  free  from  their  guilt, 
and  leave  me  alone  with  him." 

He  was  left  alone  with  the  dead. 

Evans  looked  through  the  peep-hole  of  the  cell  an  hour 
later.  He  was  still  on  his  knees,  fearing,  hoping,  vowing, 
and  above  all  praying — beside  the  dead. 

271 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MR.  EDEN,  when  he  reappeared  in  the  prison,  was 
sallow,  and  his  limbs  feeble,  but  his  fatal  disease  was 
baffled,  and  a  few  words  are  due  to  explain  how  this  hap- 
pened. The  Malvern  doctor  came  back  with  Susan  within 
twenty  hours  of  her  departure.  She  ushered  him  into  Mr. 
Eden's  room  with  blushing  joy  and  pride. 

The  friends  shook  hands,  Mr.  Eden  thanked  him  for  com- 
ing, and  the  doctor  cut  him  short  by  demanding  an  accu- 
rate history  of  the  disorder  and  the  remedies  that  had  been 
applied.  Mr.  Eden  related  the  rise  and  progress  of  his  com- 
plaint, and  meantime  the  doctor  solved  the  other  query  by 
smelling  a  battalion  of  empty  phials. 

"The  old  story,"  said  he  with  a  cheerful  grin.  "You 
were  weak — therefore  they  gave  you  things  to  weaken  you. 
You  could  not  put  so  much  nourishment  as  usual  into  your 
body — therefore  they  have  been  taking  strength  out.  Lastly, 
the  coats  of  your  stomach  were  irritated  by  your  disorder 
— so  they  have  raked  it  like  blazes.  This  is  the  mill-round 
of  the  old  medicine ;  from  irritation  to  inflammation,  from 
inflammation  to  mortification,  and  decease  of  the  patient. 
Now,  instead  of  irritating  the  irritated  spot,  suppose  we  try 
a  little  counter-irritation." 

"With  all  my  heart." 

The  doctor  then  wetted  a  towel  with  cold  water,  wrung 
it  half  dry,  and  applied  it  to  Mr.  Eden's  stomach. 

This  experiment  he  repeated  four  times  with  a  fresh  towel 
at  intervals  of  twenty  minutes.  He  had  his  bed  made  in 
Mr.  Eden's  room. 

"Tell  me  if  you  feel  feverish." 

Towards  morning  Mr.  Eden  tossed  and  turned,  and  the 
doctor,  rising,  found  him  dry  and  hot  and  feverish.  Then 
he  wetted  two  towels,  took  the  sheets  ofif  his  own  bed,  and 
placed  one  wet  towel  on  a  blanket;  then  he  made  his  pa- 
tient strip  naked,  and  lie  down  on  this  towel,  which  reached 
from  the  nape  of  his  neck  to  his  loins. 

"Ah !"  cried  Mr.  Eden— "horrible !" 

Then  he  put  the  other  towel  over  him  in  front. 

272 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Ugh!  that  is  worse;  you  are  a  bold  man  with  your 
remedies.    I  shiver  to  the  bone." 

"You  won't  shiver  long." 

He  laid  hold  of  one  edge  of  the  blanket  and  pulled  it  over 
him  with  a  strong  quick  pull,  and  tucked  it  under  him.  The 
same  with  the  other  side;  and  now  Mr.  Eden  was  in  a 
blanket-prison — a  regular  strait-waistcoat,  his  arms  pinned 
to  his  sides.    Two  more  blankets  were  placed  loosely  over  him. 

"Mighty  fine,  doctor;  but  suppose  a  fly  or  a  gnat  should 
settle  on  my  face?" 

"Call  me  and  I'll  take  him  ofif." 

In  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  Dr.  Gulson  came  to  his 
bedside  again. 

"How  are  you  now?" 

"In  Elysium." 

"Are  you  shivering?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Are  you  hot?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  am  Elysian.  Please  retreat.  Let 
no  mere  mortals  approach.  Come  not  near  our  fairy  king," 
murmured  the  sick  man.  "I  am  Oberon,  slumbering  on 
tepid  roses  in  the  garden  whence  I  take  my  name,"  purred 
our  divine,  mixing  a  creed  or  two. 

"Well,  you  must  come  out  of  this  paradise  for  the  present." 

"You  wouldn't  be  such  a  monster  as  to  propose  it." 

Spite  of  his  remonstrances  he  was  unpacked,  rubbed  dry, 
and  returned  to  his  own  bed,  when  he  slept  placidly  till  nine 
o'clock.  The  next  day  fresh  applications  of  wet  cloths  to 
the  stomach,  and  in  the  evening  one  of  the  doctor's  myrmi- 
dons arrived  from  Malvern.  The  doctor  gave  him  full  and 
particular  instructions. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Eden  was  packed  again.  He  de- 
lighted in  the  operation,  but  remonstrated  against  the  term. 

"Packed !"  said  he  to  them,  "is  that  the  way  to  speak  of 
a  paradisaical  process  under  which  fever  and  sorrow  fly  and 
calm  complacency  steals  over  mind  and  body?" 

A  slight  diminution  of  all  the  unfavorable  symptoms,  and 
a  great  increase  of  appetite,  relieved  the  doctor's  anxiety  so 
far,  that  he  left  him  under  White's  charge.  So  was  the 
myrmidon  called. 

273 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Do  not  alter  your  diet — it  is  simple  and  mucilaginous — 
but  increase  the  quantity  by  degrees." 

He  postponed  his  departure  till  midnight. 

Up  to  the  present  time  he  had  made  rather  light  of  the 
case,  and  as  for  danger,  he  had  pooh-poohed  it  with  good- 
humoured  contempt.    Just  before  he  went  he  said — 

"Well,  Frank,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  now  that  I  am 
very  glad  you  sent  for  me,  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  Forty- 
eight  hours  more  of  irritating  medicines,  and  no  human  skill 
could  have  saved  your  life." 

"Ah !  my  dear  friend,  you  are  my  good  angel.  You  can 
have  no  conception  how  valuable  my  life  is." 

"Oh  yes,  I  can!" 

"And  you  have  saved  that  life.  Yes,  I  am  weak  still,  but 
I  feel  I  shall  live.    You  have  cured  me." 

"In  popular  language,  I  have ;  but  between  ourselves,  no- 
body ever  cures  anybody.  Nature  cures  all  that  are  cured. 
But  I  patted  Nature  on  the  back ;  the  others  hit  her  over  the 
head  with  bludgeons  and  brickbats." 

"And  now  you  are  going?  I  must  not  keep  you,  or  I 
shall  compromise  other  lives.  Well,  go  and  fulfil  your  mis- 
sion. But  first  think — is  there  anything  I  can  do  in  part 
return  for  such  a  thing  as  this,  old  friend  ?" 

"Only  one  that  I  can  think  of.    Outlive  me,  old  friend." 

A  warm  and  tender  grasp  of  the  hand  on  this,  and  the 
Malvern  doctor  jumped  into  a  fly,  and  the  railway  soon 
whirled  him  into  Worcestershire. 

His  myrmidon  remained  behind  and  carried  out  his  chief's 
orders  with  inflexible  severity,  unsoftened  by  blandishments, 
unshaken  by  threats. 

In  concert  with  Susan,  he  closed  the  door  upon  all  haras- 
sing communications. 

One  day  Evans  came  to  tell  the  invalid  how  the  prisoners 
were  maltreated.  Susan  received  him,  wormed  from  him 
his  errand,  and  told  him  Mr.  Eden  was  too  ill  to  see  him, 
which  was  what  my  French  brethren  call  une  sainte  men- 
son  ge — I,  a  fib. 

A  slow  but  steady  cure  was  effected  by  these  means :  ap- 
plications of  water  in  various  ways  to  the  skin,  simple  diet, 
and  quiet.     A   great  appetite  soon  came;   he  ate  twice  as 

274 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

much  as  he  had  before  the  new  treatment,  and  would  have 
eaten  twice  as  much  as  he  did,  but  the  myrmidon  would  not 
let  him.  Whenever  he  was  feverish,  the  myrmidon  packed 
him,  and  in  half-an-hour  the  fever  was  gone.  His  cheeks 
began  to  fill,  his  eyes  to  clear  and  brighten,  only  his  limbs 
could  not  immediately  recover  their  strength. 

As  he  recovered,  his  anxiety  to  be  back  among  his  prison- 
ers increased  daily,  but  neither  Susan  nor  the  myrmidon 
would  hear  of  it.  They  acted  in  concert,  and  stuck  at  noth- 
ing to  cure  their  patient.  They  assured  him  all  was  going 
on  well  in  the  prison.  They  meant  well ;  but  for  all  that, 
every  lie,  great  or  small,  is  the  brink  of  a  precipice  the  depth 
of  which  nothing  but  Omniscience  can  fathom. 

He  believed  them,  yet  he  was  uneasy;  and  this  uneasi- 
ness increased  with  his  returning  strength.  At  last  one 
morning,  happening  to  awake  earlier  than  usual,  he  stole  a 
march  on  his  nurses,  and,  taking  his  stick,  walked  out  and 
tottered  into  the  gaol. 

He  found  Josephs  dead  under  the  fangs  of  Hawes,  and 
the  whole    prison  groaning. 

Now  the  very  day  his  symptoms  became  more  favourable, 
it  so  happened  that  he  had  received  a  few  lines  from  the 
Home  Office,  that  had  perhaps  aided  his  recovery  by  the 
hopes  they  inspired. 

"The  matter  of  your  last  communication  is  forwarded  to 
the  'Inspector  of  Prisons.'  He  is  instructed  to  inquire  strict- 
ly into  your  statements  and  report  to  this  Office." 

The  short  note  concluded  with  an  intimation  that  the 
tone  in  which  Mr.  Eden  had  conveyed  his  remonstrances  was 
intemperate,  out  of  place,  and  without  precedent. 

Mr.  Eden  was  rejoiced. 

The  "Inspector  of  Prisons"  was  a  salaried  officer  of  the 
Crown,  enlightened  by  a  large  comparison  of  many  prisons, 
and,  residing  at  a  distance,  was  not  open  to  the  corrupting 
influences  of  association  and  personal  sympathy  with  the 
governor,  as  were  the  county  magistrates. 

Day  after  day  Mr.  Eden  rose  in  hope  that  day  would  not 
pass  without  the  promised  visit  from  the  "Inspector  of  Pris- 
ons." Day  after  day  no  inspector.  At  last  Mr.  Eden  wrote 
to  him  to  inquire  when  he  was  coming. 

275 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

The  letter  travelled  about  after  him,  and,  after  consider- 
able delay,  came  his  answer.  It  was  to  this  efifect:  That 
he  was  instructed  to  examine  into  charges  made  against  the 

governor  of  Gaol ;  but  that  he  had  no  instructions  to 

make   an   irregular   visit   for   that   purpose.      His    progress 

would  bring  him  this  year  to  Gaol  in  six  weeks'  time, 

when  he  should  act  on  his  instructions,  but  these  did 
not  justify  him  in  varying  from  the  routine  of  his  cir- 
cuit. 

Six  weeks  is  not  long  to  wait  for  help  in  a  matter  of  life 
and  death,  thought  the  eighty-pounders,  the  clerks  who  exe- 
cute England. 

Three  days  of  this  six  weeks  had  scarce  elapsed,  when 
two  prisoners  were  driven  a  step  each  further  than  their 
wretched  fellow-sufferers  who  were  to  follow  them  in  a  week 
or  two.  Of  these,  one,  "a  mild,  quiet,  docile  boy,"  was 
driven  to  self-slaughter ;  and  another,  one  of  the  best-  natured 
rogues  in  the  place,  was  driven  to  manslaughter. 

This  latter  incident  Mr.  Eden  prevented.  I  will  presently 
relate  how ;  it  was  not  by  postponing  his  interference  for  six 
weeks. 

When  Mr.  Eden  rose  from  his  knees  beside  the  slaughtered 
boy,  he  went  home  at  once  and  wrote  to  the  Home  Secre- 
tary. On  the  envelope  he  wrote  "private,"  and  inside  to  this 
effect : — 

"Two  months  ago  I  informed  you  officially  that  prisoners 
are  daily  assaulted,  starved,  and  maltreated  to  the  danger  of 

their  lives  by  the  governor  of  Gaol.     I  demanded  of 

you  an  inquiry  on  the  spot.  In  reply  you  evaded  my  demand, 
and  proposed  to  refer  me  to  the  visiting  justices. 

*Tn  answer,  I  declined  these  men  for  referees  on  two 
grounds,  viz.,  that  I  had  lodged  an  appeal  with  a  higher 
jurisdiction  than  theirs,  and  that  they  were  confederates  of 
the  criminal;  and,  to  enforce  the  latter  objection,  I  included 
your  proposed  referees  in  my  charges,  and  once  more  de- 
manded of  you  in  the  Queen's  name  an  examination  of  her 
unworthy  servants  on  the  instant  and  on  the  spot. 

"On  this  occasion  I  warned  you  in  these  words : — 

"  'Here  are  i8o  souls,  to  whose  correction,  care,  and  pro- 
tection the  State  is  pledged.    No  one  of  these  lives  is  safe  a 

276 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

single  day;  and  for  every  head  that  falls  from  this  hour  I 
hold  you  responsible  to  God  and  the  State.' 

"Surely  these  were  no  light  words,  yet  they  fell  light  on 
you. 

"In  answer  you  promised  us  the  'Inspector  of  Prisons,' 
but  you  gave  him  no  instructions  to  come  to  us.  You  fooled 
away  time  when  time  was  human  life.  Read  once  more  my 
words  of  warning,  and  then  read  these: — 

"This  morning  a  boy  of  fifteen  was  done  to  death  by  Mr. 
Hawes.  Of  his  death  you  are  not  guiltless.  You  were 
implored  to  prevent  it,  you  could  have  prevented  it,  and  you 
did  not  prevent  it.  The  victim  of  gaol  cruelty  and  of  the 
maladministration  in  Government  offices  lies  dead  in  his  cell. 

"In  three  days  I  shall  commit  his  body  to  the  dust,  but 
his  memory  never — until  he  is  avenged,  and  those  who  are 
in  process  of  being  murdered  like  him  receive  the  protection 
of  the  State. 

"If  in  the  three  days  between  this  boy's  murder  and  his 
burial  your  direct  representative  and  agent  does  not  come 
here  and  examine  this  gaol  and  sift  the  acts  of  those  who 
govern  it,  on  the  fourth  day  I  lay  the  whole  case  before  Her 
Majesty  the  Queen  -and  the  British  nation  by  publishing  it 
in  all  the  journals.  Then  I  shall  tell  Her  Majesty  that, 
having  thrice  appealed  in  vain  to  her  representatives,  I  am 
driven  to  appeal  to  herself ;  with  this  I  shall  print  the  evi- 
dence I  have  thrice  offered  you  of  this  gaol's  felonies  and 
their  sanguinary  results.  That  Lady  has  a  character ;  one 
of  its  strong,  unmistakable  features  is  a  real,  tender,  active 
humanity. 

"I  read  characters — it  is  a  part  of  my  business ;  and  be- 
lieve me,  this  Lady,  once  informed  of  the  crimes  done  in 
her  name,  will  repudiate  and  abhor  alike  her  hireling's  cruelty 
and  her  clerks'  and  secretaries'  indifference  to  suffering  and 
slaughter.  Nor  will  the  public  hear  unmoved  the  awful  tale. 
Shame  will  be  showered  on  all  connected  with  these  black 
deeds,  even  on  those  who  can  but  be  charged  with  con- 
niving at  them. 

"To  be  exposed  to  national  horror  on  the  same  column 
with  the  greatest  felon  in  England  would  be  a  cruel  position. 
a  severe  punishment  for  a  man  of  honour,  whose  only  fault 

^17 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

perhaps  is  that  he  has  mistaken  an  itch  for  eminence  for  a 
capacity  for  business,  and  so  serves  the  State  without  com- 
prehending it.  But  what  else  can  I  do?  I  too  serve  the 
State,  and  I  comprehend  what  I  owe  it,  and  the  dignity  with 
which  it  intrusts  me,  and  the  deep  responsibiUty  it  lays  on 
me.  I  therefore  cannot  assent  to  future  felonies  any  more 
than  I  have  to  past  and  present,  but  must  stop  them,  and 
will  stop  them — how  I  can. 

"So,  sir,  I  offer  you  the  post  of  honour  or  a  place  of 
shame.  Choose !  for  three  whole  days  you  have  the  choice. 
Choose !  and  may  God  enlighten  you  and  forgive  me  for 
waiting  these  three  days. — I  have  the  honour  to  be,  &c.,  &c." 

To  this  letter,  whose  tone  was  more  eccentric,  more  flesh 
and  blood,  and  without  precedent  than  the  last,  came  an 
answer  in  a  different  hand  from  the  others. 

" acknowledged  receipt  of  the  chaplain's  letter. 


"Since  a  human  life  has  succumbed  under  the  discipline 

of  Gaol,  an  inquiry  follows  immediately  as  a  matter 

of  course.  The  other  inducements  you  have  held  out  are 
comparatively  weak,  and  something  more  than  superfluous. 
How  far  they  are  in  good  taste  will  be  left  to  your  own 
cooler  consideration.  A  person  connected  with  the  Home 
Department  will  visit  your  gaol  with  large  powers  soon  after 
you  receive  this. 

"He  is  instructed  to  avail  himself  of  your  zeal  and  knowl- 
edge. 

"Be  pleased  to  follow  this  course.  Select  for  him  the 
plainer  facts  of  your  case.  If  on  the  face  of  the  business  he 
sees  ground  for  deeper  inquiry,  a  commission  will  sit  upon 
the  gaol,  and  meanwhile  all  suspected  officers  will  be  sus- 
pended. You  will  consider  yourself  still  in  direct  corre- 
spondence with  this  Oflice,  but  it  is  requested,  on  account 
of  the  mass  of  matter  daily  submitted  to  us,  that  your  com- 
munications may  be  confined  to  facts,  and  those  stated  as 
concisely  as  possible." 

On  reading  this,  Mr.  Eden  coloured  with  shame  as  well 
as  pleasure.     "How  gentleman-like  all  this  is !"  thought  he. 

278 


i 


4 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"How  calm  and  superior  to  me,  who,  since  I  had  the  jaun- 
dice, am  always  lowering  my  office  by  getting  into  a  heat! 
And  I  to  threaten  this  noble,  dignified  creature  with  the 
Times!  I  am  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself.  Yet  what 
could  I  do?     I  had  tried  everything  short  of  bullying  and 

failed.     But  I  now  suspect  never  saw  my  two   first 

letters.  Doubtless  the  rotten  system  of  our  public  offices  is 
more  to  blame  than  this  noble  fellow." 

Thus  accusing  himself,  Mr,  Eden  returned  with  some- 
what feeble  steps  to  the  gaol.  One  of  the  first  prisoners  he 
visited  was  Thomas  Robinson.  He  found  that  prisoner  in 
the  attitude  of  which  he  thought  he  had  cured  him,  coiled 
up  like  a  snake,  moody  and  wretched.  The  man  turned 
round  with  a  very  bad  expression  on  his  face,  which  soon 
gave  way  to  a  look  of  joy.  He  muttered  a  loud  exclama- 
tion, and  springing  unguardedly  up,  dropped  a  brickbat, 
which  rolled  towards  Mr.  Eden  and  nearly  hit  him.  Robin- 
son looked  confused,  and  his  eyes  rose  and  fell  from  Mr. 
Eden's  face  to  the  brickbat. 

"How  do  you  do  ?" 

"Not  so  well  as  before  you  fell  ill,  sir.  It  has  been  hard 
times  with  us  poor  fellows  since  we  lost  you." 

"I  fear  it  has." 

"You  have  just  come  back  in  time  to  save  a  life  or  two. 
There  is  a  boy  called  Josephs.  I  hope  the  day  won't  go 
over  without  your  visiting  him,  for  they  are  killing  him  by 
inches." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"I  heard  him  say  so." 

Mr.  Eden  groaned. 

"You  look  pale  my  poor  fellow." 

"I  shall  be  better  now,"  replied  the  thief,  looking  at  him 
affectionately. 

"What  is  this?" 

"This,  sir!— what,  sir?" 

"This  brick?" 

"Well,  why,  it  is  a  brick,  sir!" 

"Where  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"I  found  it  in  the  yard." 

"What  were  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

279 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  going  to  do  any  ill  with  it." 

"Then  why  that  guilty  look  when  you  dropped  it.  Come, 
now,  I  am  in  no  humour  to  be  hard  upon  you.  Were  you 
going  to  make  some  more  cards?" 

"Now,  sir,  didn't  I  promise  you  I  never  would  do  that 
again  ?"  and  Robinson  wore  an  aggrieved  look.  "Would  I 
break  a  promise  I  made  to  you?" 

"What  was  it  for,  then?" 

"Am  I  bound  to  criminate  myself,  your  reverence?" 

"Certainly  not  to  your  enemy;  but  to  your  friend,  and  to 
him  who  has  the  care  of  your  soul — yes !" 

"Let  me  ask  you  a  question  first,  sir.  Which  is  worth 
most,  one  life  or  twenty?" 

"Twenty." 

"Then  if  by  taking  one  life  you  can  save  twenty,  it  is  a 
good  action  to  put  that  one  out  of  the  way?" 

"That  does  not  follow." 

"Oh,  doesn't  it?  I  thought  it  did.  There's  a  man  in  this 
prison  that  murders  men  wholesale.  I  thought  if  I  could 
any  way  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  kill  any  more,  what  a 
good  action  it  would  be !" 

"A  good  action !  so  then  this  brick " 

"Was  for  Hawes's  skull,  your  reverence." 

"This,  then,  is  the  fruit  of  all  my  teaching.  You  will 
break  my  heart  amongst  you." 

"Don't  say  so,  sir !  pray  don't  say  so !  I  won't  touch  a 
hair  of  his  head  now  you  are  alive;  but  I  thought  you  were 
dead  or  dying,  so  what  did  it  matter  then  what  I  did?  Be- 
sides. I  was  driven  into  a  corner;  I  could  only  kill 
that  scoundrel  or  let  him  kill  me.  But  you  are  alive, 
and  you  will  find  some  wav  of  saving  my  life  as  well  as 
his." 

"I  will  try.  But  first  abandon  all  thoughts  of  lawless  re- 
venge. 'Vengeance  is  Mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.' 
Come,  promise  me." 

"Now,  sir,  is  it  likely  I  would  oflfend  you  for  the  pleasure 
of  dirtying  my  fingers  with  that  rascal's  blood?  Don't  let 
such  a  lump  of  dirt  as  him  make  mischief  between  you  and 
me,  sir." 

"I  understand !  With  you  any  unchristian  sentiment  is 
"  280 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

easily  driven  out  by  another.  Hatred  is  to  give  way  to  con- 
tempt." 

"No,  sir,  but  you  are  alive,  and  I  don't  think  of  Hawes 
now  one  way  or  other;  with  such  scum  as  that,  out  of  sight 
is  out  of  mind.  When  did  you  begin  to  get  better,  sir?  and 
are  you  better?  and  shall  I  see  your  blessed  face  in  my  cell 
every  day  as  I  used?"  And  the  water  stood  in  the  thief's 
eyes. 

]\Ir.  Eden  smiled  and  sighed.  "Your  mind  is  like  an  eel. 
Heaven  help  the  man  that  tries  to  get  hold  of  it  to  do  it 
any  lasting  good.  You  and  I  must  have  a  good  pray  to- 
gether some  day." 

"Ah !  your  reverence,  that  would  do  me  good,  soul  and 
body,"  said  Mr.  Supple. 

"Let  me  now  feel  your  pulse.  It  is  very  low.  What  is 
the  matter?" 

"Starvation,  overwork,  and  solitude ;  I  feel  myself  sink- 
ing. 

"If  I  could  amuse  your  mind." 

"Even  you  could  hardly  do  that,  sir." 

"Hum !  I  have  brought  you  a  quire  of  paper,  and  one  of 
Mr.  Gillott's  swan-quill  pens,  and  a  penny  ink-bottle." 

"What  for?" 

"You  are  to  write  a  story." 

"But  I  never  wrote  one  in  my  life." 

"Then  this  will  be  the  first." 

"Oh,  I'll  try,  sir.  I've  tried  a  hundred  things  in  my  life, 
and  they  none  of  them  proved  so  hard  as  they  looked.  What 
kind  of  story?" 

"The  only  kind  of  story  that  is  worth  a  button — a  true 
story — the  story  of  Thomas  Robinson,  alias  Scott,  alias  Lyon, 
alias  &c." 

"Then  you  should  have  brought  a  ream  instead  of  a 
quire." 

"No ;  I  want  you  to  read  it  when  it  is  written.  Now 
write  the  truth ;  do  not  dress  or  cook  your  facts :  I  shall  de- 
vour them  raw  with  twice  the  reHsh,  and  they  will  do  you 
ten  times  the  good.  And  intersperse  no  humbug,  no  sham 
penitence.  When  your  own  life  lies  thus  spread  out  before 
you  like  a  map,  you  will  find  you  regret  many  things  you 

281 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

have  done,  and  view  others  with  calmer  and  wiser  eyes ;  for 
self-review  is  a  healthy  process.  Write  down  these  honest 
reflections,  but  don't  overdo  it — don't  write  a  word  you  don't 
feel.     It  will  amuse  you  while  you  are  at  it." 

"That  it  will." 

"It  will  interest  me  more  than  the  romance  of  a  carpet 
writer  who  never  saw  life,  and  it  may  do  good  to  other 
prisoners." 

"I  want  to  begin." 

"I  know  you  do,  creature  of  impulse !  Let  me  feel  your 
pulse  again.     Ah !  it  has  gained  about  ten." 

"Ten !  your  reverence.  Fifty,  you  mean.  It  is  you  for 
putting  life  into  a  poor  fellow  and  keeping  him  from  de~ 
spair.  It  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  saved  me.  The  devil 
hates  you  more  than  all  the  other  parsons,  for  you  are  as 
ingenious  in  good  as  he  is  in  mischief." 

In  the  midst  of  this  original  eulogy  Mr.  Eden  left  the  cell 
suddenly  with  an  aching  heart,  for  the  man's  words  re- 
minded him  that,  for  all  his  skill  and  zeal,  a  boy  of  fifteen 
years  lay  dead  of  despair  hard  by.  He  went,  but  he  left  two 
good  things  behind  him — occupation  and  hope. 


1 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  inexperienced  in  gaols  would  take  for  granted  that 
the  death  of  Josephs  gave  Mr.  Hawes's  system  a  fatal 
check.  No  such  thing.  He  was  staggered.  So  was 
Pharaoh  staggered  several  times,  yet  he  always  recovered 
himself  in  twenty-four  hours.  Hawes  did  not  take  so  long 
as  that.  A  suicide  was  no  novelty  under  his  system.  Six 
hours  after  he  found  his  victim  dead  he  had  a  man  and  a 
boy  crucified  in  the  yard,  swore  horribly  at  Fry,  who  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  was  behind  time,  and  tore  out  of 
his  hands  "Uncle  Tom,"  which  was  the  topic  that  had 
absorbed  Fry  and  made  him  two  minutes  behind  him ;  went 
home  and  wrote  a  note  to  his  friend  Williams,  informing 
him  of  the  suicide  that  had  taken  place,  and  reflecting  severe- 
ly upon  Josephs  for  his  whole  conduct,  with  which  this  last 
offence  aaginst   discipline   was   in   strict  accordance.     Then 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

he  had  his  grog,  and  having  nothing  to  do,  he  thought  he 
would  see  what  was  that  story  which  had  prevailed  so  far 
over  the  stern  realities  of  system  as  to  derange  that  piece 
of  clockwork  that  went  by  the  name  of  Fry.  He  yawned 
over  the  first  pages,  but  as  the  master-hand  unrolled  the 
great  chromatic  theory,  he  became  absorbed,  and  devoured 
this  great  human  story  till  his  candles  burned  down  in  their 
sockets,  and  sent  him  to  bed  four  hours  later  than  usual. 

The  next  morning  soon  after  chapel  a  gentleman's  servant 
rode  up  to  the  gaol  and  delivered  a  letter  for  Mr,  Hawes. 
It  was  from  Justice  Williams.  That  worthy  expressed  in 
polysyllables  his  sorrow  at  the  death  of  Josephs  after  this 
fashion : — 

"A  circumstance  of  this  kind  is  always  to  be  deplored, 
since  it  gives  occasion  to  the  enemies  of  the  system  to  cast 
reflections,  which,  however  unphilosophical  and  malignant, 
prejudice  superficial  judgments  against  our  salutary  disci- 
pline." 

He  then  went  on  to  say  that  the  visiting  justices  would  be 
at  the  gaol  the  next  day  at  one  o'clock  to  make  their  usual 
report,  in  which  Mr.  Hawes  might  be  sure  his  zeal  and 
fidelity  would  not  pass  unnoticed.  He  concluded  by  saying 
that  Mr.  Hawes  must  on  that  occasion  present  his  charges 
against  the  chaplain  in  a  definite  form^  and  proceedings 
would  be  taken  on  the  spot. 

"Aha !  aha !  So  I  shall  get  rid  of  him.  Confound  him ! 
he  makes  me  harder  upon  the  beggars  than  I  should  be.  Fry, 
put  these  numbers  on  the  cranks  and  bring  me  your  report 
after  dinner." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Hawes  vanished,  and,  to  the  infi- 
nite surprise  of  the  turnkeys,  was  not  seen  in  the  gaol  for 
many  hours.  At  two  o'clock,  as  he  was  still  not  in  the  pris- 
on, Fry  went  to  his  house.  He  found  Mr.  Hawes  deep  in 
a  book. 

"Brought  the  report,  sir." 

"Give  it  to  me.  Humph !  Nos.  40  and  45  refractory  at 
the  crank.  No.  65  caught  getting  up  to  his  window ;  says 
he  wanted  to  feel  the  light.  65 — that  is  one  of  the  boys,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


"How  old  is  the  young  varmint?" 

"Eleven,  sir." 

"No.  14  heard  to  speak  to  a  prisoner  that  was  leaving 
the  gaol,  his  term  being  out.     What  did  he  say  to  him?" 

"Said  'Good-bye !     God  bless  you !'  " 

"I'll  shut  his  mouth.  Confound  the  beggars  !  how  fond  they 
are  of  talking.  I  think  they  would  rather  go  without  their 
food  than  without  their  jaw." 

"No,  19  caught  writing  a  story.  It  is  that  fellow  Robin- 
son, one  of  the  parson's  men.  I'll  write  something  on  his 
skin.    How  did  he  get  the  things  to  write  with?" 

"Chaplain  gave  them  him." 

"Ah!  I  am  glad  of  that.  You  brought  them  away,  of 
course  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  here  they  are.  He  made  a  terrible  fuss  about 
parting  with  them." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  Heaven  was  to  judge  between  me  and  him." 

"Blaspheming   dog!   him!     I'll   break  him.     What 

else?" 

"  'Get  out  of  my  sight,'  said  he,  'for  fear  I  do  you  a 
mischief.'  So  then  down  he  pops  on  his  knees  in  a  corner 
and  turns  his  back  on  me,  like  an  ignorant  brute  that  he  is," 

"Never  mind.  Fry,  I'll  break  him." 

"I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  in  prison  soon,  shan't  we, 
sir?    The  place  looks  strange  to  me  without  you." 

"By  and  by — by  and  by.  This  confounded  book  sticks  to 
me  like  a  leech.    How  far  had  you  got  when  you  lent  it  me  ?" 

"Got  just  to  the  most  interesting  part,"  said  Fry  dolefully, 
"Where  he  comes  under  a  chap  called  Legree ;  and  then  you 
took  it  away." 

"Well,  you'll  have  it  again  as  soon  as  I  have  done  with 
it.  I  say,  what  do  you  think  of  this  book?  Is  it  true,  do 
you  think?" 

"Oh,  it  is  true — I'd  take  my  oath  of  that." 

"Why,  how  do  you  know?" 

"Because  it  reads  like  true." 

"That  is  no  rule,  ye  fool." 

"Well,  sir,  what  do  you  think?" 

This  question  staggered  Hawes  for  a  moment.     However, 

284 


i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

he  assumed  an  oracular  look,  and  replied,  "I  think  some  of  it 
is  true  and  some  isn't." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  true  about  their  knocking  down  blackee 
in  one  lot,  and  his  wife  in  another,  and  sending  'em  a  thou- 
sand miles  apart?" 

"Oh,  that  is  true  enough,  I  daresay." 

"And  running  them  down  with  bloodhounds?" 

"Why  not?  They  look  upon  the  poor  devils  as  beasts. 
If  you  tell  a  Yankee  a  nigger  is  a  man,  he  thinks  you  are 
poking  fun  at  him." 

"It  is  a  cursed  shame!" 

"Of  course  it  is ;  but  I'll  tell  you  wdiat  I  can't  swallow  in 
this  book.     Hem !  did  you  ever  fall  in  with  any  Yankees  ?" 

"One  or  two,  sir." 

"Were  they  green  at  all?" 

"That  they  weren't.  Tliev  were  rather  foxy,  I  should 
say." 

"Rather !  why,  one  of  them  would  weather  upon  any  three 
Englishmen  that  ever  were  born.  Now  here  is  a  book  that 
as  good  as  tells  me  it  is  a  Yankee  custom  to  disable  their 
beasts  of  burden.  Gammon !  they  can't  afford  to  do  it. 
I  believe,"  continued  this  candid  personage  (who  had  never 
been  in  any  of  the  States),  "they  are  the  cruellest  set  on  the 
fact  of  the  earth,  but  then  they  are  the  'cutest  (that  is  their 
own  word),  and  they  are  a  precious  sight  too  'cute  to  disable 
the  beast  that  carries  the  grist  to  the  mill." 

"Doesn't  seem  likely — now  you  put  it  to  me." 

"Have  a  glass  of  grog,  Fry." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"And  there  is  the  paper.  Run  your  eye  over  it  and  don't 
speak  to  me  for  ten  minutes,  for  I  must  see  how  Tom  gets  on 
under  this  bloody-minded  heathen." 

Fry  read  the  paper ;  but  although  he  moistened  it  with  a 
glass  of  grog,  he  could  not  help  casting  envious  glances  from 
his  folio  at  Mr.  Hawes's  duodecimo. 

Fibs  mixed  with  truth  charm  us  more  than  truth  mixed 
with  fibs. 

Presently  an  oath  escaped  from  Mr.  Hawes. 

"Sir!" 

"Nothing,   it   is  onlv  this   infernal — humph !" 

285 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


Presently  another  expletive.  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Fry, 
if  somebody  doesn't  knock  this  thundering  Legree  on  the 
head,  I'll  put  the  book  on  the  fire."  j-l 

"Well,  but  if  it  isn't  true,  sir?"  ' 

"But  it  is  true  every  word  of  it  while  you  are  reading  it, 
ye  fool.  What  heathens  there  are  in  the  world !  First  they 
sell  a  child  out  of  his  mother's  arms.  She  cuts  sooner  than 
be  parted.  They  hunt  her  and  come  up  with  her;  but  she 
knows  what  they  are,  and  trusts  her  life  and  the  child  to  one 
of  their  great  thundering  frozen  rivers,  as  broad  as  the 
British  Channel,  sooner  than  fall  into  their  hands.  That  is 
like  a  woman.  Fry.  A  fig  for  me  being  drowned  if  the  kid 
is  drowned  with  me ;  and  I  don't  even  care  so  much  for  the 
kid  being  drowned  if  I  go  down  with  him — and  the  coward- 
ly vermin,  dogs  and  men,  stood  barking  on  the  bank  and 
dursn't  follow  a  woman ;  but  your  cruel  ones  are  always 
cowards.  And  now  the  rips  have  got  hold  of  this  Tom.  A 
chap  with  no  great  harm  in  him  that  I  see,  except  that  he  is 
a — sniveller  and  psalm-singer,  and  makes  you  sick  at  times, 
but  he  isn't  lazy ;  and  now  they  are  mauling  him  because  he 
couldn't  do  the  work  of  two.  A  man  can  but  do  his  best, 
black  or  white,  and  it  is  infernal  stupidity  as  well  as  cruelty 
to  torment  a  fellow  because  he  can't  do  more  than  he  can  do. 
And  all  this  because  over  the  same  flesh  and  blood  there  is 
the  sixteenth  of  an  inch  of  skin  a  different  colour.  Wonder 
whether  a  white  bear  takes  a  black  one  for  a  hog,  or  a  red 
fox  takes  a  blue  one  for  a  badger.  Well,  Fry,  thank  your 
stars  that  you  were  born  in  Britain.  There  are  no  slaves 
here,  and  no  buying  and  selling  of  human  flesh ;  and  one  law 
for  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  and  justice  for  the  weak 
as  well  as  the  strong." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Fry  deferentially.  "Are  you  coming  into 
the  gaol,  sir?" 

"No,"  replied  Hawes  sturdily,  "I  won't  move  till  I  see 
what  becomes  of  the  negro,  and  what  is  done  to  this  eternal 
ruffian." 

"But  about  the  prisoners  in  my  report,  sir,"  remonstrated 
Fry. 

"Oh,  you  can  see  to  that  without  my  coming,"  replied 
Hawes  with  nonchalance.    "Put  40  and  45  in  the  jacket  four 

286 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

hours  apiece.     Mind  there's  somebody  by  with  the  bucket 
against  they  sham." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Put  the  boy  on  bread  and  water,  and  to-morrow  I'll  ask 
the  justices  to  let  me  flog  him.  No.  14 — humph !  stop  his 
supper — and   his   bed — and   gas." 

"And  Robinson?" 

"Oh,  give  him  no  supper  at  all,  and  no  breakfast,  not  even 
bread  and  water — dy'e  hear?  And  at  noon  I'll  put  him  with 
his  empty  belly  in  the  black-hole, — that  will  cow  him  down 
to  the  ground.     There,  be  off!" 

Next  morning  Mr.  Hawes  sat  down  to  breakfast  in  high 
spirits.  This  very  day  he  was  sure  to  humiliate  his  adver- 
sary, most  likely  get  rid  of  him  altogether. 

Mr.  Eden,  on  the  contrary,  wore  a  sombre  air.  Hawes 
noticed  it,  mistook  it,  and  pointed  it  out  to  Fry.  "He  is 
down  upon  his  luck :  he  knows  he  is  coming  to  an  end." 

After  breakfast  Mr.  Eden  went  into  Robinson's  cell :  he 
found  him  haggard. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  you  are  come,  sir ;  they  are  starving  me ! 
No  supper  last  night,  no  breakfast  this  morning,  and  all  for — 
hum!" 

"For  what?" 

"Well,  sir,  then — ^having  paper  in  my  cell,  and  for  writ- 
ing— doing  what  you  bade  me — writing  my  life." 

Mr.  Eden  coloured  and  winced.  The  cruelty  and  the  per- 
sonal insult  combined  almost  took  away  his  breath  for  a 
moment.  "Heaven  grant  me  patience  a  little  longer,"  said 
he  aloud.  Then  he  ran  out  of  the  cell,  and  returned  in  less 
than  a  minute  with  a  great  hunch  of  bread  and  a  slice  of 
ham.     "Eat  this,"  said  he,  all  fluttering  with  pity. 

The  famished  man  ate  like  a  wolf ;  but  in  the  middle  he 
did  stop  to  say,  "Did  one  man  ever  save  another  so  often  as 
you  have  me?  Now  my  belly  is  full,  I  shall  have  strength 
to  stand  the  jacket,  or  whatever  is  to  come  next." 

"But  you  are  not  to  be  tormented  further  than  this,  I 
hope." 

"Ah !  sir,"  replied  Robinson,  "you  don't  know  the  scoun- 
drel yet.  He  is  not  starving  me  for  nothing.  This  is  to 
weaken  me  till  he  puts  the  weight  on  that  is  to  crush  me." 

287 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"I  hope  you  exaggerate  his  personal  dislike  to  you  and 
your  own  importance — we  all  do  that." 

"Well,"  sighed  Robinson,  "I  hope  I  do.  Anyway,  now 
my  belly  is  full,  I  have  got  a  chance  with  him." 

The  visiting  justices  met  in  the  gaol.  The  first  to  arrive 
was  Mr.  Woodcock;  in  fact,  he  came  at  eleven  o'clock,  an 
hour  before  the  others.  Had  Mr.  Hawes  expected  him  so 
soon,  he  would  have  taken  Carter  down,  who  was  the  pillo- 
ried one  this  morning;  but  he  was  equal  to  the  emergency. 
He  met  Mr.  Woodcock  with  a  depressed  manner,  as  of  a  ten- 
der but  wise  father,  who  in  punishing  his  offspring  had  pun- 
ished himself,  and  said  in  a  low  regretful  voice,  "I  am  sorry 
to  say  I  have  been  compelled  to  punish  a  prisoner  very 
severely." 

"What  is  his  ofifence?" — "Being  refractory  and  break- 
ing his  crank.  You  will  find  him  in  the  labour-yard. 
He  was  so  violent,  we  were  obliged  to  put  him  in  the 
jacket." 

"I  shall  see  him.  The  labour-yard  is  the  first  place  I  go 
to." 

Mr.  Hawes  knew  that,  Mr.  Woodcock. 

The  justice  found  Carter  in  that  state  of  pitiable  torture 
the  sight  of  which  made  Mr.  Eden  very  ill.  He  went  up  to 
him  and  said,  "My  poor  fellow.  I  am  very  sorry  for  you; 
but  discipline  must  be  maintained,  and  you  are  now  suffer- 
ing for  fighting  against  it.  Make  your  submission  to  the 
governor,  and  then  I  daresay  he  will  shorten  your  punish- 
ment as  far  as  he  thinks  consistent  with  his  duty." 

Carter,  it  may  well  be  imagined,  made  no  answer.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  the  worthy  magistrate  expected  or  required 
one.  An  occasion  for  misjudging  a  self-evident  case  of 
cruelty  had  arrived.  This  worthy  seized  the  opportunity, 
received  an  cx-parte  statement  for  gospel,  and  misjudged, 
spite  of  his  senses. 

Item-,  an  occasion  for  twaddling  had  come,  and  this  good 
soul  seized  it  and  twaddled  into  a  man's  ear  who  was  faint- 
ing on  the  rack. 

At  this  moment  the  more  observant  Hawes  saw  the  signs 
of  "shamming"  coming  on.  So  he  said  hastily,  "Oh,  he  will 
come  to  soon,  and  then  he  will  be  taken  down ;"  and  moved 

288 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

away.  Mr.  Woodcock  followed  him  without  one  grain  of 
suspicion  or  misgiving. 

The  English  State  has  had  many  opportunities  of  gauging 
the  average  intellects  of  its  unpaid  jurists.  By  these  it  has 
profited  so  well  that  it  intrusts  blindly  to  this  gentleman  and 
his  brethren  the  following  commission : — 

They  are  to  come  into  a  place  of  darkness  and  mystery,  a 
place  locked  up,  a  place  which,  by  the  folly  of  the  nation  and 
the  shallow  egotists  who  are  its  placemen  and  are  called  its 
statesmen,  is  not  subject  to  the  only  safeguard  of  law  and 
morals,  daily  inspection  by  the  great  unprejudiced  public. 
They  are  to  come  into  this,  the  one  pitch-dark  hole  that  is 
now  left  in  the  land.  They  are  to  come  here  once  in  two 
months,  and  at  this  visit  to  see  all  that  has  been  done  there 
in  the  dark  since  their  last  visit.  Their  eagle-eye  is  not  to 
be  hoodwinked  by  appearances  got  up  to  meet  their  •  visit. 
They  are  to  come  and  comprehend  with  one  piercing  glance 
the  past  months  as  well  as  the  present  hour.  Good !  Only 
for  this  task  is  required,  not  the  gullibility  that  characterises 
the  many,  but  the  sagacity  that  distinguishes  the  few. 

Mr.  Woodcock  undertook  not  to  be  deceived  as  to  what 
had  been  done  in  the  gaol  while  he  was  forty  miles  distant, 
and  Hawes  gulled  him  under  his  own  eyes. 

What  different  men  there  are  in  the  world,  and  how  differ- 
ently are  the  same  things  seen  by  them !  The  first  cruci- 
fixion Eden  saw,  he  turned  as  sick  as  a  dog ;  the  first  cruci- 
fixion Woodcock  saw,  he  twaddled  in  the  crucified's  ear,  left 
him  on  the  cross,  and  went  on  his  way  well  pleased. 

Hawes,  finding  what  sort  of  man  he  had  to  deal  with, 
thought  within  himself.  "Why  should  I  compromise  disci- 
pline in  any  point?"  He  said  to  Mr.  Woodcock,  "There  is 
another  prisoner  whom  I  am  afraid  I  must  give  an  hour  in 
the  dark  cell." 

"What  has  he  been  doing?" 

"Scribbling  a  lot  of  lies  upon  some  paper  he  got  from  the 
chaplain." 

Mr.  Hawes's  brief  and  unkind  definition  of  autobiography 
did  Robinson's  business.  Mr.  Woodcock  simply  observed 
that  the  proposed  punishment  was  by  no  means  a  severe  one 
for  the  offence. 

"  289 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

They  visited  several  cells.  Woodcock  addressed  the  pris- 
oners in  certain  words,  accompanied  with  certain  tones  and 
looks,  that  were  at  least  as  significant  as  his  words,  and 
struck  the  prisoners  as  more  sincere. 

The  words,  "If  you  have  anything  to  complain  of  here, 
now  is  the  time  tO'  say  so,  and  your  complaint  shall  be  sifted." 

The  tones  and  looks,  "I  know  you  are  better  off  here  than 
such  scum  as  you  deserve,  but  you  have  a  right  to  contradict 
me  if  you  like ;  only  mind,  if  you  don't  prove  it  to  my  satis- 
faction, who  am  not  the  man  to  believe  anything  you  say, 
you  had  better  have  held  your  tongue." 

Meantime  Mr.  Hawes  said  nothing,  but  fixed  his  eye  on 
the  rogue,  and  that  eye  said,  "One  word  of  discontent,  and 
the  moment  he  has  gone  I  massacre  you."  Then  followed 
in  every  case  the  old  theatrical  business  according  to  each 
rogue's  measure  of  ability.  They  were  in  the  Elysian  fields ; 
one  thing  alone  saddened  them — some  day  or  other  they 
must  return  to  the  world. 

Fathers,  sent  by  your  apprehensive  wives  to  see  whether 
Dicky  is  well  used  at  that  school  or  not,  don't  draw  Dicky 
into  a  corner  of  the  playground,  and  with  tender  kisses  and 
promises  of  inviolable  secrecy  coax  him  to  open  his  little  heart 
to  you,  and  tell  you  whether  he  is  really  happy ;  leave  such 
folly  to  women — it  is  a  weakness  to  wriggle  into  the  truth 
as  they  do. 

No !  you  go  like  a  man  into  the  parlour  with  the  school- 
master— then  have  Dicky  in — let  him  see  the  two  authorities 
together  on  good  terms — then  ask  him  whether  he  is  happy 
and  comfortable  and  well  used.  He  will  tell  you  he  is.  Go 
home  rejoicing ;  but  before  you  go  into  the  drawing-room,  do 
pray  spend  twenty  minutes  by  the  kitchen-fire,  and  then  go 
upstairs  to  the  boy's  mother — and  let  her  eat  you,  for  you 
belong  to  the  family  of  the  Woodcocks. — 

"We  are  passing  one  cell." 

"Oh,  that  one  is  empty,"  replied  Hawes. 

Not  quite  empty ;  there  was  a  beech  coffin  standing  in  that 
cell,  and  the  corpse  of  a  murdered  thief  lay  waiting  for  it. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  justices  were  all  assembled  in  their 
room.  "We  will  send  vou  a  message  in  half  an  hour,  Mr. 
Hawes." 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Hawes  bowed  and  retired,  and  bade  Fry  to  take  Rob- 
inson to  the  dark  cell.  The  poor  fellow  knew  resistance  was 
useless.  He  came  out  at  the  word  of  command,  despair 
written  on  his  face.  Of  all  the  horrors  of  this  hell,  the  dark 
cell  was  the  one  he  most  dreaded.  He  looked  up  to  Hawes 
to  see  if  anything  he  could  say  would  soften  him.  No ;  that 
hardened  face  showed  neither  pity  nor  intelligence;  as  well 
appeal  to  a  stone  statue  of  a  mule. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Eden  came  into  the  gaol.  Robinson 
met  him  on  the  ground-floor,  and  cried  out  to  him,  "Sir,  they 
are  sending  me  to  the  black-hole  for  it.  I  am  a  doomed  man  ; 
the  black-hole  for  six  hours." 

"No,"  roared  Hawes  from  above,  "for  twelve  hours ;  the 
odd  six  is  for  speaking  in  prison." 

Robinson  groaned. 

'T  will  take  you  out  in  three,"  said  Mr.  Eden  calmly. 

Hawes  heard  and  laughed  aloud. 

"Give  me  your  hand  on  that,  sir,  for  pity's  sake,"  cried 
Robinson. 

Mr.  Eden  gave  him  his  hand  and  said  firmly,  "I  will  take 
you  out  in  two  hours,  please  God." 

Hawes  chuckled.  "Parson  is  putting  his  foot  in  it  more 
and  more.     The  justices  shall  know  this." 

This  momentary  contact  with  his  good  angel  gave  Robin- 
son one  little  ray  of  hope  for  a  companion  in  the  cave  of  dark- 
ness, madness,  and  death. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  justices  went  through  their  business  in  the  usual 
routine.  They  had  Mr.  Hawes's  book  up — examined 
the  entries — received  them  with  implicit  confidence — looked 
for  no  other  source  of  information  to  compare  them  with. 
Examined  one  witness  and  did  not  cross-examine  him. 

This  done,  one  of  them  proposed  to  concoct  their  report  at 
once.  Another  suggested  that  the  materials  were  not  com- 
plete ;  that  there  was  a  charge  against  the  chaplain.  This 
should  be  looked  into,  and  should  it  prove  grave,  embodied 
in  their  report.  , 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Mr.  Williams  overruled  this :  "We  can  reprimand,  or  if 
need  be  the  bench  can  dismiss,  a  chaplain  without  troubling 
the  Secretaries  of  State.  Let  us  make  our  report  and  then 
look  into  the  chaplain's  conduct,  who  is  after  all  a  new-comer, 
and  they  say  a  little  cracked ;  he  is  a  man  of  learning." 

So  they  wrote  their  report,  and  in  it  expressed  their  con- 
viction that  the  system  on  the  whole  worked  admirably.  They 
noticed  the  incident  of  Josephs'  suicide,  but  attached  no  sig- 
nificance and  little  importance  to  it.  Out  of  a  hundred  and 
eighty  prisoners  there  would  be  a  few  succumb  in  one  way 
or  another  under  the  system,  but  on  the  whole  the  system 
worked  well. 

Jugger  system's  wheels  were  well  greased,  and  so  long  as 
they  were  well  greased  it  did  not  matter  their  crushing  one 
or  two.  Besides  the  crushed  were  only  prisoners,  the  refuse 
of  society.  They  reported  the  governor,  Mr.  Hawes,  as  a 
painstaking,  active,  zealous  officer ;  and  now  Mr.  Hawes 
was  called  in — the  report  was  read  to  him — and  he  bowed, 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  aorta,  and  presented  a  histrionic  pic- 
ture of  modest  merit  surprised  by  unexpected  praise  from  a 
high  quarter.  Next  Mr.  Hawes  was  requested  to  see  the 
report  sent  off  to  the  post. 

'T  will,  gentlemen ;"  and  in  five  minutes  he  was  at  the 
post-office  in  person,  and  his  praises  on  the  way  to  his  Sov- 
ereign or  her  representative. 

"How  long  will  the  parson  take  us?" 

"Oh,  not  ten  minutes." 

"I  hope  not,  for  I  want  to  look  at  a  horse." 

"We  had  better  send  for  him  at  once  then." 

The  bell  was  rung  and  the  chaplain  sent  for.  The  chap- 
lain was  praying  the  prayers  for  the  sick  by  the  side  of  a 
dying  prisoner.  He  sent  back  word  how  he  was  employed, 
and  that  he  would  come  as  soon  as  he  had  done. 

This  message  was  not  well  received.  Keep  a  living  jus- 
tice waiting  for  a  dying  dog! 

"These  puppies  want  taking  down,"  said  Mr.  Woodcock. 

"Oh,  leave  him  to  me,"  replied  Mr.  Williams. 

Soon  after  this  the  following  puppy  came  into  the  room. 
A  gentleman  of  commanding  figure,  erect  but  easy,  with 'a 
head  of  remarkable  symmetry  and  an  eye  like  a  stag's.     He 

292 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

entered  the  room  quietly  but  rather  quickly,  and  with  an  air 
of  business;  bowed  rapidly  to  the  three  gentlemen  in  turn, 
and  waited  in  silence  their  commands. 

Then  Mr.  Williams  drew  himself  up  in  his  chair,  and  wore 
the  solemn  and  dignified  appearance  that  becomes  a  judge 
trying  a  prisoner,  with  this  difference,  that  his  manner  was 
not  harsh  or  intentionally  offensive,  but  just  such  as  to  re- 
veal his  vast  superiority  and  irresistible  weight. 

In  a  solemn  tone,  with  a  touch  of  pity,  he  began  thus : — "I 
am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Eden,  that  grave  charges  are  laid 
against  you  in  the  prison." 

"Give  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  my  account,  sir,"  replied 
Mr.  Eden  politely ;  "they  are  perhaps  false." 

"Yet  they  come  from  one  who  has  means  of  knowing — 
from  the  governor,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"Ah !  then  they  are  sure  to  be  false." 

"We  shall  see.  Four  Sundays  ago  you  preached  a  ser- 
mon." 

"Two." 

"Ay!  but  one  was  against  cruelty." 

"It  was;   the   other  handled  theft." 

"Mr.  Hawes  conceives  himself  to  have  been  singled  out  and 
exposed  by  that  sermon." 

"Why  so?  there  are  more  than  thirty  cruel  men  in  this  gaol 
besides  him." 

"Then  this  sermon  was  not  aimed  at  him?"  put  Mr.  Will- 
iams with  a  pinning  air. 

"It  was  and  it  was  not.  It  was  aimed  at  that  class  of  my 
parishioners  to  which  he  belongs ;  a  large  class,  including  all 
the  turnkeys  but  one,  between  twenty  and  thirty  of  the  great- 
er criminals  among  the  prisoners — and  Mr.  Hawes." 

Mr.  Williams  bit  his  lip.  "Gentlemen,  this  classification 
shows  the  animus ;"  then  turning  to^  Mr.  Eden,  he  said  with 
a  half-incredulous  sneer,  "How  comes  it  that  Mr.  Hawes  took 
this  sermon  all  to  himself  ?" 

Mr.  Eden  smiled.  "How  does  it  happen  that  two  prison- 
ers, 82  and  87,  took  it  all  to  themselves?  These  two  men 
sent  for  me  after  the  sermon ;  they  were  wife-beaters.  I 
found  them  both  in  great  agitation.  One  terrified,  the  other 
softened  to  tears  of  penitence.     These    did    not    apply  my 

293 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

words  to  Mr.  Hawes.  The  truth  is,  when  a  searching  ser- 
mon is  preached,  each  sinner  takes  it  to  himself.  I  am  glad 
Mr.  Hawes  fitted  the  cap  on.  I  am  glad  the  prisoners  fitted 
the  cap  on.  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Hawes  was  irritated  instead  of 
reformed.  I  am  glad  those  two  less-hardened  sinners  were 
reformed  instead  of  irritated." 

"And  I  must  tell  you,  sir,  that  we  disapprove  of  your  style 
of  preaching  altogether,  and  we  shall  do  more,  we  shall  make 
a  change  in  this  respect  the  condition  of  your  remaining  in 
office." 

"And  the  bishop  of  the  diocese?"  asked  Mr.  Eden. 

"What  about  him?" 

"Do  you  think  he  will  allow  you,  an  ignorant  inexperi- 
enced layman,  to  usurp  the  episcopal  function  in  his  dio- 
cese? 

"The  episcopal  function,  Mr.  Eden?" 

Mr.  Eden  smiled.  "He  does  not  even  see  that  he  has  been 
trying  to  usurp  sacred  functions  and  of  the  highest  order. 
But  it  is  all  of  a  piece — a  profound  ignorance  of  all  law,  civil 
or  ecclesiastical  characterises  all  your  acts  in  this  gaol.  My 
good  soul,  just  ask  yourself  for  what  purpose  does  a  bishop 
exist?  Why  is  one  priest  raised  above  other  priests,  and 
consecrated  bishop,  but  to  enable  the  Church  to  govern  its 
servants.  I  laugh,  but  I  ought  rather  to  rebuke  you.  What 
you  have  attempted  is  something  worse  than  childish  arro- 
gance. Be  warned !  and  touch  not  the  sacred  vessels  so  rash- 
ly— it  is  profanation." 

The  flashing  eye  and  the  deepening  voice,  and  the  old  awful 
ecclesiastical  superiority  suddenly  thundering  upon  them, 
quite  cowed  the  two  smaller  magistrates.  Williams,  whose 
pomposity  the  priest  had  so  rudely  shaken,  gasped  for  breath 
with  rage.  Magisterial  arrogance  was  not  prepared  for  ec- 
clesiastical arrogance,  and  the  blow  was  stunning. 

"Gentlemen,  I  wish  to  consult  you.  Be  pleased  to  retire 
for  a  minute,  sir." 

A  discussion  took  place  in  the  chaplain's  absence,  Will- 
iams was  for  dismissing  him  on  the  spot,  but  the  others,  who 
were  cooler,  would  not  hear  of  it.  "We  have  made  a  false 
move,"  said  they,  "and  he  saw  our  mistake  and  made  the  most 
of  it.     Never  mind !  we  shall  catch  him  on  other  ground." 

294 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

During  this  discussion  Mr.  Eden  had  not  been  idle;  he  went 
into  Robinson's  empty  cell,  and  coolly  placed  there  another 
inkstand,  pen,  and  quire  in  the  place  of  those  Hawes  had  re- 
moved. Then  glancing  at  his  watch,  he  ran  hastily  out  of 
the  gaol.  Opposite  the  gate  he  found  four  men  waiting; 
they  were  there  by  appointment. 

"Giles,"  said  he  to  one,  "I  think  a  gentleman  will  come 
down  by  the  next  train.  Go  to  the  station  and  hire  Jenkyns's 
fly  with  the  grey  horse.  Let  no  one  have  it  who  is  not  com- 
ing on  to  the  gaol.  You  two  stay  by  the  printing-press  and 
loom  till  further  orders,  Jackson,  you  keep  in  the  way  too. 
My  servant  will  bring  you  your  dinner  at  two  o'clock."  He 
then  ran  back  to  the  justices.     They  were  waiting  for  him. 

Mr.  Williams  began  with  a  cutting  coldness.  "We  did  not 
wish  to  go  to  the  length  of  laying  a  complaint  against  you 
before  the  bishop,  but  if  you  really  prefer  this  to  a  friendly 
remonstrance " 

"I  prefer  the  right  thing  to  the  wrong  thing,"  was  the 
prompt  and  calm  rejoinder. 

"The  complaint  shall  be  made." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed,  and  his  eyes  twinkled.  He  pictured  to 
himself  this  pompous  personage  writing  to  the   Bishop  of 

,  to  tell  him  that  he  objected  tO'  Mr.  Eden's  preaching; 

not  that  he  had  ever  heard  it,  but  that  in  attacking  a  great 
human  vice  it  had  hit  a  gaoler. 

"The  next  I  think  we  can  deal  with.  Mr.  Hawes  com- 
plains that  you  constantly  interfere  between  him  and  the 
prisoners,   and    undermine   his    authority." 

"I  support  him  in  all  his  legal  acts,  but  I  do  oppose  his 
illegal  ones." 

"Your  whole  aim  is  to  subvert  the  discipline  of  the  gaol." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  assure  you  I  am  the  only  officer  of  the 
gaol  who  maintains  the  discipline  as  by  law  established." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  give  Mr.  Hawes  the  lie?" 

"You  shall  phrase  my  contradiction  according  to  your  own 
taste,  sir." 

"And  which  do  you  think  is  likeliest  to  be  believed?" 

"Mr.  Hawes  by  you  gentlemen ;  Mr.  Eden  by  the  rest  of 
the  nation." 

Here  Mr.   Palmer  put  in  his  word.     "I   don't  think  we 

295 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ought  to  pay  less  respect  to  one  man's  bare  assertion  than  to 
another's.     It  is  a  case  for  proof." 

"Well,  but,  Palmer,"  replied  Woodcock,  "how  can  the 
gaol  go  on  with  these  two  at  daggers  drawn?" 

"It  cannot,"  said  Mr.  Eden. 

"Ah!  you  can  see  that." 

"A  house  divided  against  itself!"  suggested  Mr.  Eden. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Woodcock,  "let  us  try  and  give  a 
more  friendly  tone  to  this  discussion." 

"Why  not? — our  weapons  would  bear  polishing." 

"Yes,  you  have  a  high  reputation,  Mr.  Eden,  both  for 
learning  and  Christian  feeling ;  in  fact,  the  general  considera- 
tion in  which  you  are  held  has  made  us  more  lenient  in  this 
case  than  we  should  have  been  with  another  man  in  your 
office." 

"There  you  are  all  wrong." 

"You  can't  mean  that ;  make  us  some  return  for  this  feel- 
ing.    You  know  and  feel  the  value  of  peace  and  unity  ?" 

"I  do." 

"Then  be  the  man  to  restore  them  to  this  place." 

"I  will  try." 

"The  governor  and  you  cannot  pull  together — one  must 
go." 

"Clearly." 

"Well,  then,  no  stigma  shall  rest  on  you — a^ou  will  be  al- 
lowed to  ofifer  us  your  voluntary  resignation.'' 

"Excuse  me,  I  propose  tO'  arrive  at  peace  and  unity  by 
another  route." 

"But  I  see  no  other." 

"If  I  turn  Mr.  Hawes  out,  it  will  come  to  the  same  thing, 
will  it  not?" 

"Mr  Hawes?" 

"Mr.  Hawes." 

"But  you  can't  turn  him  out,  sir,"  sneered  Williams. 

"I  think  I  can." 

"He  has  our  confidence  and  our  respect,  and  shall  have  our 
protection." 

"Still  I  will  turn  him  out,  with  God's  help." 

"This  is  a  defiance,  Mr.  Eden." 

"You  cannot  really  think  me  capable  of  defying  three  jus- 

296 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

tices  of  the  peace !"  said  Mr.  Eden  in  a  solemn  tone,  his  eyes 
twinkhng. 

"Defiance!  no,"  said  Mr.  Palmer  innocently. 

"Well,  but,  Palmer,  his  opposition  to  Mr.  Hawes  is  opposi- 
tion to  us,  and  is  so  bitter  that  it  leaves  us  no  alternative :  we 
must  propose  to  the  bench  to  remove  you  from  your  office." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed. 

"And  meantime,"  put  in  Mr.  Williams,  "we  shall  probably 
suspend  you  this  very  day  by  our  authority." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed. 

"We  will  not  detain  you  any  longer,  sir,"  said  Williams 
rather  insolently. 

"I  will  but  stay  to  say  one  word  to  this  gentleman,  who 
has  conducted  himself  with  courtesy  towards  me.  Sir,  for 
your  own  sake,  do  not  enter  on  this  contest  with  me :  it  is  an 
unequal  one.  A  boy  has  just  been  murdered  in  this  prison.  I 
am  about  to  drag  his  murderer  into  the  light ;  why  hang 
upon  his  skirts,  and  compel  me  to  expose  you  to  public  hor- 
ror as  his  abettor?  There  is  yet  time  to  disown  the  fell 
practices  of — hell !"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "There  is 
half  an  hour.  Do  not  waste  it  in  acts  which  our  superiors 
will  undo.  See,  here  are  the  prison  rules ;  a  child  could  un- 
derstand them.  A  child  could  see  that  what  you  call  'the 
discipline'  is  a  pure  invention  of  the  present  gaoler,  and  con- 
tradicts the  discipline  as  by  law  established,  and  consequent- 
ly that  Josephs  and  others  have  been  murdered  by  this  law- 
less man.  These  are  the  prison-rules,  are  they  not?  and 
here  are  the  gaoler's  proceedings  in  the  month  of  January — 
compare  the  two,  and  separate  your  honourable  name  from 
the  contact  of  this  caitiff,  whose  crimes  will  gibbet  him  in 
the  nation's  eyes,  and  you  with  him,  unless  you  seize  this 
chance  and  withdraw  your  countenance  from  him." 

The  three  injustices  rose  by  one  impulse. 

"Make  your  preparations  to  leave  the  gaol,"  said  Mr. 
Woodcock. 

"Half  an  hour  is  quite  enough  under  the  circumstances," 
said  Williams. 

Palmer  stood  aghast — his  mind  was  not  fast  enough  to 
keep  up. 

Mr.  Eden  bowed  and  retired.     He  was  scarcely  out  of  the 

297 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

room  when  the  justices  drew  up  an  order  for  his  suspension 
from  his  office. 

Mr.  Hawes  was  next  sent  for. 

"We  have  found  the  chaplain  all  you  described  him.  Dis- 
cipline is  impossible  with  such  a  man ;  here  is  an  order  for  his 
suspension."  Hawes's  eyes  sparkled.  "We  will  enter  it  into 
the  book ;  meantime  you  are  to  see  it  executed."  Hawes  went 
out,  but  presently  returned. 

"He  won't  go,  gentlemen." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  he  won't  go?"  said  Williams. 

"I  told  him  your  orders ;  and  he  said,  'Tell  their  worships 
they  are  exceeding  their  authority,  and  I  won't  go.  Then  I 
said,  'They  give  you  half  an  hour  to  pack  up  and  then  you 
must  pack  ofif.'  " 

"He!  he!  he!  and  what  did  he  say?" 

"  'Oh,  they  give  me  half  an  hour,  do  they  ?'  says  he — 'you 
take  them  this' — and  he  wrote  this  on  a  slip  of  paper — ^here 
it  is." 

The  slip  contained  these  words —  noXka  fxera^v  rrsXei 
KvXiKog  Kai  x^iXsos  aKpov. 

While  the  justices  were  puzzling  over  this,  Hawes  added, 
"Gentlemen,  he  said  in  his  polite  way,  'If  it  is  like  the  prison- 
rules  and  beats  their  comprehension,  you  may  tell  them  it 
means — 

'There  is  many  a  slip 
'Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip.'  " 

"Well,  Mr.  Hawes— what  next?" 

"  'I  am  victualled  for  a  siege,'  says  he,  and  he  goes  into 
his  own  room,  and  I  heard  him  shoot  the  bolt." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  inquired  Mr.  Palmer. 

"It  means,  sir,  that  you  won't  get  him  out  except  by  kick- 
ing him  out."  Hawes  had  been  irritating  their  wounded 
vanity  in  order  to  get  them  up  to  this  mark. 

"Then  turn  him  out  by  force,"  said  Williams ;  but  the  other 
two  were  wiser.  "No,  we  must  not  do  that — we  can  keep 
him  out  if  once  he  crosses  the  door." 

"I  will  manage  it  for  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Hawes. 

"Do." 

Mr.  Hawes  went  out  and  primed  Fry  with  a  message  to 

298 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Mr.  Eden  that  a  gentleman  had  ridden  over  from  Oxford  to 
see  him,  and  was  at  his  house. 

Mr.  Eden  was  in  his  room  busy  collecting  and  arranging 
several  papers ;  he  had  just  tied  them  up  in  a  little  portfolio 
when  he  heard  Fry's  voice  at  the  door.  When  that  worthy 
delivered  his  message  his  lip  curled  with  scorn,  but  he  said, 
"Very  well."  "I  will  disappoint  the  sly  boobies,"  thought 
he.  But  the  next  moment,  looking  out  of  his  window,  he 
saw  a  fly  with  a  grey  horse  coming  along  the  road.  "At 
last,"  he  cried,  and  instantly  unbolted  his  door,  and  issued 
forth  with  his  little  portfolio  under  his  arm.  He  had  scarce 
taken  ten  steps  when  a  turnkey  popped  out  from  a  corner,  and 
stood  sentinel  over  his  room-door  barring  all  return. 

Mr.  Eden  smiled  and  passed  on  along  the  corridor.  He 
descended  from  the  first  floor  to  the  basement.  Here  he 
found  Hawes  afifecting  business,  but  not  skilfully  enough  to 
hide  that  he  was  watching  Mr.  Eden  out. 

In  the  yard  leading  to  the  great  door  he  found  the  injus- 
tices. "Aha!"  thought  he,  "waiting  to  see  me  out."  He 
raised  his  hat  politely.  Williams  took  no  notice.  The  others 
slight. 

'There  is  many  a  slip 
'Tvvixt  the  cup  and  the  lip.'  " 

said  he  to  them,  looking  them  calmly  over,  then  sauntered 
towards  the  gate. 

Mr.  Hawes  came  creeping  after  and  joined  the  injus- 
tices ;  every  eye  furtively  w^atched  the  parson  whom  they  had 
outwitted.  Fry  himself  had  gone  to  the  lodge  to  let  him  out 
and  keep  him  out.  He  was  but  a  few  steps  from  the  door. 
Hawes  chuckled ;  his  heart  beat  with  exultation.  Another 
moment  and  that  huge  barrier  would  be  interposed  for  ever 
between  him  and  his  enemy,  the  prisoners'  friend. 

"Open  the  door,  Mr.  Fry,"  said  the  chaplain.  Fry  pulled 
it  quickly  open.     "And  let  that  gentleman  in!" 

A  middle-aged  gentleman  was  paying  off  his  fly.  The 
door  being  thus  thrown  open,  he  walked  quickly  into  the  gaol 
as  if  it  belonged  to  him. 

"Who  is  this?"  inquired  Mr.  Williams  sharply.  The  new- 
comer inquired  as  sharply,  "The  governor  of  this  gaol?" 

2QQ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Mr.  Hawes  stepped  forward :  "I  am  the  governor."  The 
new-comer  handed  him  his  card  and  a  note. 

"Mr.  Lacy  from  the  Home  Office,"  said  Mr.  Hawes  to  the 
injustices.     "These,  sir,  are  the  visiting  justices." 

Mr.  Lacy  bowed,  but  addressed  himself  to  Mr.  Hawes  only. 
"Grave  charges  have  been  made  against  you,  sir.  I  am  here 
to  see  whether  matters  are  such  as  to  call  for  a  closer  inves- 
tigation." 

"May  I  ask,  sir,  who  makes  the  charges  against  me?" 

"The  chaplain  of  your  own  gaol." 

"But  he  is  my  enemy,  sir,  my  personal  enemy." 

"Don't  distress  yourself.  No  public  man  is  safe  from  de- 
traction. We  hear  an  excellent  account  of  you  from  every 
quarter  but  this  one.  My  visit  will  probably  turn  to  your  ad- 
vantage." 

Hawes  brightened. 

"Is  there  any  room  in  which  I  could  conduct  this  in- 
quiry ?" 

"Will  you  be  pleased  to  come  to  the  justices'  room?" 

"Yes.  Let  us  go  there  at  once.  Gentlemen,  you  shall  be 
present  if  you  choose." 

"It  is  right  you  should  know  the  chaplain  is  cracked,"  said 
Mr.   Williams. 

"I  should  not  wonder.  Pray,"  inquired  Mr.  Lacy,  "who 
was  that  bilious-looking  character  near  the  gate  when  I  came 
in?" 

"Why,  that  was  the  chaplain." 

"I  thought  so!  I  daresay  we  shall  find  he  has  taken  a 
jaundiced  view  of  things  Send  for  him,  if  you  please,  and 
let  us  get  through  the  business  as  quickly  as  we  can." 

When  Mr.  Eden  came,  he  found  Mr.  Lacy  chatting  pleas- 
antly with  his  four  adversaries.  On  his  entrance  the  gentle- 
man's countenance  fell  a  little,  and  Mr.  Eden  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  that  this  man  too  was  prejudiced  against  him. 

"Mr.— Mr.  ?" 

"Eden." 

"Mr.  Eden,  be  seated,  if  you  please.  You  appear  to  be  ill, 
sir?" 

"I  am  recovering  from  a  mortal  sickness." 

"The  jaundice,  eh?" 

300 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Something  of  that  nature." 

"A  horrible  complaint." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed. 

"1  have  had  some  experience  of  it.  Are  you  aware  of  its 
effect  on  the  mind?" 

"I  feel  its  effect  on  the  temper  and  the  nerves." 

"Deeper  than  that,  sir — it  colours  the  judgment.  Makes 
us  look  at  everything  on  the  dark  side." 

Mr.  Eden  sighed :  'T  see  what  you  are  driving  at ;  but 
you  confound  effect  with  cause." 

Mr  Lacy  shrugged  his  shoulders,  opened  his  portfolio,  and 
examined  a  paper  or  two.  "Mr.  Hawes,  you  served  Her 
Majesty  in  another  way  before  you  came  here?" 

"Five-and-twenty  years,  sir,  man  and  boy." 

"And  I  think  with  credit?" 

"My  will  has  been  good  to  do  my  duty,  whatever  my  abili- 
ties may  be." 

"I  believe  you  distinguished  yourself  at  sea  in  a  storm  in 
the  West  Indies  ?" 

Mr.  Williams  put  in  warmly,  "He  went  out  to  a  vessel  in 
distress  in  a  hurricane  at  Jamaica." 

"It  was  off  the  Mauritius,"  observed  Mr.  Eden  with  a 
gleam  of  satisfaction. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  "he  saved  other  lives  at  the  risk  of 
his  own,  no  matter  where.  Pray,  Mr.  Eden,  does  your  read- 
ing and  experience  lead  you  to  believe  that  a  brave  man  is 
ever  a  cruel  one?" 

"Yes." 

"There  is  a  proverb  that  the  cruel  are  always  cowards." 

"Cant!  seven  out  of  twelve  are  cowards  and  five  brave." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  The  presumption  is  all  on  Mr. 
Hawes's  side." 

"And  only  the  facts  on  mine." 

Mr.  Lacy  smiled  superciliously.  "To  the  facts  let  us  go 
then.  You  received  a  note  from  the  Home  Office  this  morn- 
ing. In  compliance  with  that  note  have  you  prepared  your 
case  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  begin  by  giving  me  an  idea  what  the  nature  of 
vour  evidence  will  be?" 


301  y_\^B^^^ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"A  page  or  two  of  print — twenty  of  manuscript — three  or 
four  living  witnesses,  and — one  dead  body." 

"Hum !  he  seems  in  earnest,  gentlemen.  How  long  do 
you  require  to  state  your  case?  Can  it  be  done  to-day?" 
Mr.  Lacy  looked  at  his  watch  half-peevishly. 

"Half  an  hour,"  was  the  reply. 

"Only  half  an  hour?" 

"Ay,  but  half  an  hour  neat." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'neat'?" 

"The  minutes  not  to  be  counted  that  are  wasted  in  idle 
interruptions  or  in  arguments  drawn  from  vague  probabili- 
ties where  direct  evidence  lies  under  our  senses.  For  in- 
stance, that  because  I  have  been  twenty-five  years  a  servant 
of  Christ  with  good  repute,  therefore  it  is  not  to  be  credited 
I  could  bring  false  accusation ;  or  that  because  Mr.  Hawes 
was  brave  twenty  years  ago  in  one  set  of  circumstances,  there- 
fore he  cannot  be  cruel  now  in  another  set  of  circumstances." 

Mr.  Lacy  coloured  a  little,  but  he  took  a  pinch  of  snufif, 
and  then  coolly  drew  out  of  his  pocket  a  long  paper  sealed. 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  this  is?" 

Mr.  Eden  caught  sight  of  the  direction ;  it  was  to  himself, 

"Probably  my  dismissal  from  my  post?" 

"It  is." 

Hawes  quivered  with  exultation. 

"And  I  have  authority  to  present  you  with  it  if  you  do  not 
justify  the  charges  you  have  made  against  a  brother  officer." 

"Good!"  said  Mr.  Eden.  "This  is  intelligent  and  it  is  just; 
the  first  gleam  of  either  that  has  come  into  this  dark  hole 
since  I  have  known  it.     I  augur  well  from  this." 

"This  is  a  character,  gentlemen." 

"To  business,  sir  ?"  inquired   Mr.  Eden, undoing  his  portfolio. 

"Sir,"  put  in  Mr.  Hawes,  "I  object  to  an  ex-parte  state- 
ment from  a  personal  enemy.  You  are  here  to  conduct  a  can- 
did inquiry,  not  to  see  the  chaplain  conduct  a  hostile  one.  I 
feel  that  justice  is  safe  in  your  hands,  but  not  in  his." 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Eden  ;  "I  am  to  be  dismissed  unless 
I  prove  certain  facts.  See!  the  Secretary  of  State  has  put 
me  on  my  defence.  I  will  intrust  that  defence  to  no  man  but 
myself." 

"You  are  keen,  sir,  but  you  are  in  the  right ;  and  you,  Mr. 

•^02 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Hawes,  will  be  here  to  correct  his  errors,  and  to  make  your 
own  statement  after  he  has  done,  in  half  an  hour." 

"Ah!  well,"  thought  Hawes,  "he  can't  do  me  much  harm 
in  half  an  hour." 

"Begin,  sir !"  and  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Mr.  Hawes,  I  want  your  book — the  log-book  of  the 
prison." 

"Get  it,  Mr.  Hawes,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Hawes  went  out. 

"Mr.  Williams,  are  these  the  prison  rules  by  Act  of  Par- 
liament?" and  he  showed  him  the  paper. 

"They  are.,   sir." 

"Examine  them  closely,  Mr.  Lacy ;  they  contain  the  whole 
discipline  of  this  prison  as  by  law  established.  Keep  them 
before  you.  It  is  with  these  you  will  have  to  compare  the 
gaoler's  acts.  And  now,  how  many  times  is  the  gaoler  em- 
powered to  punish  any  given  prisoner?" 

"Once ! — on  a  second  offence  the  prisoner,  I  see,  is  referred 
for  punishment  to  the  visiting  justices." 

"If,  therefore,  this  gaoler  has  taken  upon  himself  to  pun- 
ish the  same  prisoner  twice,  he  has  broken  the  law." 

"At  all  events,  he  has  gone  beyond  the  letter  of  this  par- 
ticular set  of  rules." 

"But  these  rules  were  drawn  up  by  lawyers,  and  are  based 
on  the  law  of  the  land.  A  gaoler,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  is 
merely  a  head-turnkey  set  to  guard  the  prisoners :  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  he  had  no  lawful  right  to  punish  a  prisoner 
at  all;  that  right  was  first  bestowed  on  him  with  clear  limi- 
tations by  an  Act  passed  in  George  the  Fourth's  reign,  which 
I  must  show  you,  because  that  Act  is  a  gaoler's  sole  authority 
for  punishing  a  prisoner  at  all ;  here  is  the  passage,  sir ;  will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  read  it  out  ?" 

"Hum !  'The  keeper  of  every  prison  shdl  have  power  to 
hear  all  complaints  touching  any  of  the  follozving  offences: 
— disobedience  of  the  prison  rules,  assaults  by  one  prisoner 
on  another  ivhere  no  dangerous  zvound  is  given,  profane  curs- 
ing or  swearing,  any  indecent  behaviour  at  chapel,  idleness 
or  negligence  in  work.  The  said  keeper  may  punish  all  such 
offences  by  ordering  any  offender  to  close  coniinement  in  the 
refractory  or  solitary  cells,  and  by  keeping  such  offenders 

303 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

upon  bread  and  water  only  for  any  term  not  exceeding  three 
days:  " 

"Observe,"  put  in  Mr.  Eden,  "he  can  only  punish  once,  and 
then  not  select  the  punishment  according  to  his  own  fancy; 
he  is  restricted  to  separate  confinement,  and  bread  and  water, 
and  three  days." 

Mr.  Lacy  continued :  "  'In  case  any  criminal  prisoner  shall 
be  guilty  of  any  repeated  offence  against  the  rules  of  the 
prison,  or  of  any  greater  offence  than  the  gaoler  is  by  this 
Act  empowered  to  punish,  the  said  gaoler  shall  forivith  re- 
port the  same  to  the  visiting  justices,  who  can  punish  for  one 
month,  or  felons,  or  those  sentenced  to  hard  labour  by  per- 
sonal correction.' " 

"Such  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "is  the  law  of  England,  and 
the  men  who  laid  down  our  prison  rules  were  not  so  igno- 
rant or  unscrupulous  as  to  run  their  head  against  the  statute 
law  of  the  land.  Nowhere  in  our  prison  rules  will  you  find 
any  power  given  to  our  gaoler  to  punish  any  but  minor  of- 
fences, or  to  punish  any  prisoner  more  than  once,  or  to  in- 
flict any  variety  of  punishments.  Such  are  this  gaoler's  pow- 
ers— now  for  his  acts  and  their  consequences.     Follow  me." 

"Evans,  open  this  cell.  Jenkyns,  what  are  you  in  prison 
for?" 

"For  running  away  from  sarvice,  your  reverence." 

"How  often  have  you  been  punished  since  you  came  ?" 

"A  good  many  times,  your  reverence." 

"By  the  visiting  justices?" 

"No,  sir !  I  was  never  punished  by  them,  only  by  the  gov- 
ernor." 

"What  have  been  your  ofifences?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir ;  I  never  meant  to  ofifend  at  all,  but  I 
am  not  very  strong,  and  the  governor  he  puts  me  on  a  heavy 
crank,  and  then  I  can't  always  do  the  work,  and  I  suppose 
he  thinks  it  is  for  want  of  the  will,  so  he  gives  it  me." 

"How  has  he  punished  you?" 

"Oh,  sometimes  it  is  clamming;  nothing  but  a  twopenny, 
roll  all  day,  and  kept  to  hard  work  all  the  same ;  sometimes 
my  bed  taken  away,  you  know,  sir,  but  mostly  the  punish- 
ment jacket." 

Mr.  Lacy. — The  punishment-jacket!  what  is  that? 

304 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Eden. — Look  in  the  prison  rules  and  see  if  you  can 
find  a  punishment-jacket ;  meantime  come  with  me.  Two 
gross  violations  of  the  law — repetition  of  punishment  and 
variety  of  punishments.  Evans,  open  this  cell.  What  are 
you  in  for? 

Prisoner  (taking  off  his  cap  politely). — Burglary,  gentle- 
men. 

"Have  you  been  often  refractory  since  you  came  here?" 

"Once  or  twice,  sir;  but " 

"But  what?" 

"These  gentlemen  are  the  visiting  justices?" 

"Yes!" 

"They  would  be  offended  if  I  told  the  trvitli." 

Mr.  Laey. — I  am  here  from  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  I 
bid  you  tell  the  truth. 

Prisoner. — Oh,  are  you,  sir?  Well  then,  the  truth  is,  I 
never  was  refractory  but  once. 

Mr.  Lacy. — Oh,  you  were  refractory  once? 

Prisoner. — Yes,   sir ! 

Mr.  Lacy. — How  came  that? 

Prisoner. — Well,  sir,  it  was  the  first  week ;  I  had  never 
been  in  a  separate  ceil  before,  and  it  drove  me  mad ;  no  one 
came  near  me  or  spoke  a  word  to  me,  and  I  turned  savage ;  I 
didn't  know  myself,  and  I  broke  everything  in  the  cell. 

Mr.  Eden. — And  the  other  times? 

Prisoner. — The  other  times,  sir,  I  was  called  refractory,  but 
I  was  not. 

Mr.  Ede)i. — What  punishments  have  been  inflicted  on  you 
by  the  governor  ? 

Prisoner. — Well,  sir,  the  black-cell,  bread  and  water,  and 
none  of  that ;  took  away  my  gas  once  or  twice,  but  generally 
it  was  the  punishment- jacket. 

Mr.  Lacy. — Hum  !  the  punishment-jacket. 

Mr.  Eden. — How  long  since  you  had  the  punishment- 
jacket? 

Prisoner. — No  longer  than  yesterday. 

Mr.  Eden. — Strip,  my  man,  and  let  us  look  at  3^our  back. 

The  prisoner  stripped  and  showed  his  back,  striped  livid 
and  red  by  the  cutting  straps. 

Mr.  Lacy  gave  a  start,  but  the  next  moment  he  resumed 

305 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

his  official  composure,  and  at  this  juncture  Mr.  Hawes 
bustled  into  the  cell  and  fixed  his  eye  on  the  prisoner.  "What 
are  you  doing?"  said  he,  eyeing  the  man. 

"The  gentleman  made  me  strip,  sir,''  said  the  prisoner  with 
an  ill-used  air. 

"Have  you  any  complaint  to  make  against  me?" 

"No,  sir!" 

"Then  what  have  you  been  humbugging  us  for  all  this 
time?"  cried  Mr.  Williams  contemptuously. 

"For  instance,"  cried  Mr.  Eden  in  the  same  tone,  glancing 
slyly  at  Mr.  Lacy,  "how  dare  you  show  us  frightful  wales 
upon  your  back  when  you  know  they  only  exist  in  your 
imagination — and   mine  ?" 

Mr  Lacy  laughed.  "That  is  true,  he  can't  retract  his 
wales,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  how  they  came  here." 
Here  he  made  a  note. 

"I  will  show  you  by  and  by,"  said  Mr.  Eden. 

The  next  two  cells  they  went  to  the  prisoners  assured 
Mr.  Lacy  that  they  were  treated  like  Mr.  Hawes's  chTl- 
dren. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Lacy,  with  evident  satisfaction,  "what  do 
you  say  to  that?" 

"I  say,  use  your  eyes."  And  he  wheeled  the  last  prisoner 
to  the  light.  "Look  at  this  hollow  eye  and  faded  cheek ;  look 
at  this  trembling  frame,  and  feel  this  halting  pulse.  Here  Is 
a  poor  wretch  crushed  and  quelled  by  cruelty  till  scarce  a 
vestige  of  man  is  left.  Look  at  him!  here  is  an  object  to 
pretend  to  you  that  he  has  been  kindly  used.  Poor  wretch ! 
his  face  gives  the  lie  to  his  tongue,  and  my  life  on  it  his  body 
confirms  his  face.     Strip,  my  lad." 

Mr.  Hawes  interposed,  and  said  it  was  cruel  to  make  a 
prisoner  strip  to  gratify  curiosity.  Mr.  Eden  laughed. 
"Come,  strip,"  said  he — "the  gentleman  is  waiting."  The 
prisoner  reluctantly  took  off  his  coat,  waistcoat,  and  shirt, 
and  displayed  an  emaciated  person  and  several  large  livid 
strips  on  his  back. 

Mr.  Lacy  looked  grave. 

"Now,  Mr.  Lacy,  you  see  the  real  reason  why  this  humane 
gentleman  did  not  like  the  prisoner  to  strip.  Come  to  an- 
other.    Before  we  go  in  to  this  one  let  me  ask  you  one  ques- 

306 


11 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   AIEND 

tion :  Do  you  think  they  will  ever  tell  you  the  truth  while 
Mr.  Hawes's  eye  is  on  them  ?" 

"Hum !  they  certainly  seem  to  stand  in  awe  of  Mr. 
Hawes." 

Hawes. — But,  sir,  you  see  how  bitter  the  chaplain  is  against 
me.     Where  he  is  I  ought  to  be,  if  I  am  to  have  fair  play. 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Hawes,  certainly !  that  is  but  fair. 

Mr.  Eden. — What  are  you  in  for? 

Prisoner. — Taking  a  gentleman's  wipe,  gentlemen. 

Mr.  Eden. — Have  you  been  often  punished? 

Prisoner. — Yes,  your  reverence !  Why,  you  know  I  have ; 
now  didn't  you  save  my  life  when  they  were  starving  me  to 
death  two  months  ago  ? 

Mr.  Lacy. — How  did  he  save  your  life? 

Prisoner. — Made  'em  put  me  on  the  sick  list,  and  put  some- 
thing into  my  poor  belly. 

Mr.  Lacy. — What  state  was  the  man  in,  Mr.  Eden? 

Mr.  Eden. — He  was  like  a  skeleton,  and  so  weak  that  he 
could  only  speak  two  or  three  words  at  a  time,  and  then  had 
to  stop  a  long  while  and  recover  strength  to  say  two  or  three 
more.  I  did  not  think  a  human  creature  could  be  so  near 
death  and  not  die. 

Mr.  Lacy. — And  did  you  know  the  cause? 

Mr.  Eden. — Frankly,  I  did  not.  I  had  not  at  that  time 
fathomed  all  the  horrors  of  this  place. 

Mr.  Lacy. — Did  you  tell  the  chaplain  at  the  time  you  were 
starving? 

Prisoner. — No ! 

Mr.  Eden. — And  why  not? 

Mr.  Hazves. — Simply  because  he  never  was  starving. 

Prisoner. — Well,  I'll  tell  you,  gentlemen;  his  reverence  said 
to  me,  "My  poor  fellow,  you  are  very  ill — I  must  have  you 
on  the  sick  list  directly,"  and  then  he  went  for  the  doctor. 
Now  I  knew  if  I  got  on  the  sick  list  they  would  fill  my  belly ; 
so  I  said  to  myself,  best  let  well  alone.  If  I  had  told  him  it 
was  only  starvation,  he  would  not  interfere,  I  thought. 

Mr.  Lacy  opened  his  eyes.     Mr.  Eden  sighed. 

Mr.  Lacy. — You  seem  to  have  a  poor  opinion  of  Her  Ma- 
jesty's officers. 

Prisoner. — Didn't    know    him,    you    see — didn't    know    his 

307 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

character ;  the  humbug  that  was  here  before  him  would  have 
let  a  poor  fellow  be  kicked  into  his  grave  before  his  eyes,  and 
not  hold  out  a  hand  to  save  him. 

Mr.  Lacy. — Let  me  understand  you.  Were  you  kept  with- 
out food? 

Prisoner. — I  was  a  day  and  a  half  without  any  food  at  all. 

Mr.  Lacy. — By  whose  orders? 

Prisoner. — By  the  governor's  there,  and  I  was  a  week  on  a 
twopenny  loaf  once  a  day,  and  kept  at  hard  work  on  that  till 
I  dropped.  Ah !  your  reverence,  I  shall  never  forget  your 
face.     I  should  be  under  the  sod  now  if  it  was  not  for  you ! 

WilliatHS. — You  rascal !  the  last  time  I  was  here  you  told 
me  you  never  were  so  happy  and  comfortable. 

Prisoner. — Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  hee!  hee!  haw!  haw!  ho!  I 
ask  your  pardon  for  laughing,  sir;  but  you  are  so  precious 
green.  Why,  if  I  had  told  you  the  truth  then,  I  shouldn't  be 
alive  to  talk  to  you  now. 

"What,  I  should  have  murdered  you,  should  I?"  said  Mr. 
Hawes  with  a  lofty  sneer. 

"Why,  you  know  you  would,  sir,"  replied  the  prisoner 
firmly  and  respectfully,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  before 
them  all. 

Mr.  Lacy. — You  don't  think  so,  or  you  would  not  take 
these  liberties  with  him  now. 

The  prisoner  cast  a  look  of  pity  on  Mr.  Lacy.  "Well,  you 
are  green!  What,  can't  you  see  that  I  am  going  out  to-day? 
Do  you  think  I'd  be  such  a  cully  as  to  tell  a  pack  of  green- 
horns like  you  the  truth  before  a  sharp  hand  like  our  gov- 
ernor if  I  was  in  his  power?  No.  my  term  of  imprisonment 
expired  at  twelve  o'clock  to-day." 

"Then  why  are  you  here?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  sir.  Our  governor  always  detains  a  pris- 
oner for  hours  after  the  law  sets  him  free ;  so  then  the  poor 
fellow  has  not  time  to  get  back  to  his  friends ;  so  then  he 
sleeps  in  the  town,  ten  to  one  at  a  public-house ;  gets  a  glass, 
gets  into  bad  company,  and  in  a  month  or  two  comes  back 
here;  that  is  the  move,  sir.  Bless  you,  they  are  so  fond  of 
us  they  don't  like  to  part  with  us  for  good  and  all." 

Mr.  Lacy. — I  do  not  for  a  moment  believe,  ]\Ir.  Hawes. 
that  vou  have  forseen  these  consequences,  but  the  detention 

_-^o8 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

of  this  man  after  twelve  o'clock  is  clearly  illegal,  and  you 
must  liberate  him  on  the  instant. 

Mr.  Halves. — That  I  will,  and  I  wish  this  had  been  pointed 
out  to  me  before,  but  it  was  a  custom  of  the  prison  before 
my  time. 

Mr.  Eden. — Evans,  come  this  way — come  in.  How  long 
have  you  been  a  turnkey  here? 

Evans. — Four  years,  sir. 

Mr.  Eden. — Do  you  happen  to  remember  the  practice  of 
the  late  governor  with  respect  to  prisoners  whose  sentence 
had  expired  r 

Evans. — Yes,  sir !  They  were  kept  in  their  cells  all  the 
morning;  then  at  eleven  their  own  clothes  were  brought  in 
clean  and  dry,  and  they  had  half  an  hour  given  them  to 
take  off  the  prison  dress  and  put  on  their  own.  Then  a  little 
before  twelve  they  were  taken  into  the  governor's  own  room 
for  a  word  of  friendly  advice  on  leaving,  or  a  good  book, 
or  a  tract,  or  what  not.  Then  at  sharp  twelve  the  gate  was 
opened  for  them  and 

Prisoner. — Good-bye,  till  we  see  you  again. 

Evans  (sternly). — Come,  my  man,  it  is  not  for  you  to 
speak  till  you  are  spoken  to. 

Mr.  Eden. — You  must  not  take  that  tone  with  the  gentle- 
man, Evans  ;  this  is  not  a  queen's  prisoner,  it  is  a  private  guest 
of  Mr.  Hawes.  But  time  flies.  If,  after  what  we  have  heard 
and  seen,  you  still  doubt  whether  this  gaoler  has  broken  the 
law  by  punishing  the  same  prisoner  more  than  once,  and  in 
more  ways  than  one,  fresh  evidence  will  meet  you  at  every 
step,  but  I  would  now  direct  your  principal  attention  to  other 
points.  Look  at  Rule  37.  By  this  rule  each  prisoner  must 
be  visited  and  conversed  with  by  four  officers  every  day,  and 
they  are  to  stay  with  him  upon  the  aggregate  half  an  hour 
in  the  day.  Now  the  object  of  this  rule  is  to  save  the  prison- 
ers from  dying  under  the  natural  and  inevitable  operation 
of  solitude  and  enforced  silence,  two  things  that  are  fatal  to 
life  and  reason. 

"But  solitary  confinement  is  legal." 

Mr.  Eden  sighed  heavily.  "No,  it  is  not :  separate  confine- 
ment, i.e.,  separation  of  prisoner  from  prisoner,  is  legal,  but 
separation  of  a  prisoner  from  the  human  race  is  as  illegal 

309 


IT  .IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

as  any  other  mode  of  homicide.  It  never  was  legal  in  Eng- 
land; it  was  legal  for  a  short  time  in  the  United  States,  and 
do  you  know  why  it  has  been  made  illegal  there?" — "No, 
I  do  not." 

"Because  they  found  that  life  and  reason  went  out  under 
it  like  the  snuff  of  a  candle.  Men  went  mad  and  died,  as 
men  have  gone  mad  and  died  here  through  the  habitual 
breach  of  Rule  37,  a  rule  the  aim  of  which  is  to  guard  sepa- 
rate confinement  from  being  shuffled  into  solitary  confine- 
ment or  homicide.  Take  twenty  cells  at  random,  and  ask 
the  prisoners  how  many  officers  come  and  say  good  words 
to  them  as  bound  by  law ;  ask  them  whether  they  get  their 
half-hour  per  diem  of  improving  conversation.  There  is 
a  row  of  shambles,  go  into  them  by  yourself;  take  neither 
the  head-butcher  nor  me." 

Mr.  Lacy  bit  his  lip,  bowed  stiffly,  and  beckoned  Evans  to 
accompany  him  into  the  cells.  Mr.  Hawes  went  in  search 
of  Fry,  to  concert  what  was  best  to  be  done.  Mr.  Eden 
paced  the  corridor.  As  for  Mr.  Lacy,  he  took  the  cells  at 
random,  skipping  here  and  there.  At  last  he  returned  and 
sent  for  Mr.  Hawes. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  37th  Rule  has  been  habitually 
violated;  the  prisoners  are  unanimous;  they  tell  me  that  so 
far  from  half  an  hour's  conversation,  they  never  have  three 
minutes,  except  with  the  chaplain ;  and  during  his  late  illness 
they  were  often  in  perfect  solitude.  They  tell  me,  too,  that 
when  you  do  look  in,  it  is  only  to  terrify  them  with  angry 
words  and  threats.  Solitude  broken  only  by  harsh  language  is 
a  very  sad  condition  for  a  human  creature  to  lie  in — the  law, 
it  seems,  does  not  sanction  it — and  our  own  imperfections 
should  plead  against  such  terrible  severity  applied  indiscrimi- 
nately to  great  and  small  offenders." 

"Oh,  that  is  well  said,  that  is  nobly  said,"  cried  Mr.  Eden 
with  enthusiasm. 

"Sir,  I  was  put  in  here  to  carry  out  the  discipline  which 
had  been  relaxed  by  the  late  governor,  and  I  have  but  obeyed 
orders,  as  it  was  my  duty." 

"Nonsense!"  retorted  Mr.  Eden.  "The  discipline  of  this 
gaol  is  comprised  in  these  rules,  of  which  eight  out  of  ten 
are  habitually  broken  by  you." 

^10 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"He  is  right  there  so  far,  Mr.  Hawes :  you  are  here  to 
maintain,  not  an  imaginary  discipline,  but  an  existing  disci- 
pline strictly  defined  by  printed  rules,  and  it  seems  clear  you 
have  committed  (through  ignorance)  serious  breaches  of 
these  rules;  but  let  us  hope,  Mr.  Eden,  that  no  irreparable 
consequences  have  followed  this  unlucky  breach  of  Rule  37." 

"Irreparable?  No!"  replied  Mr.  Eden  bitterly.  "The 
Home  Office  can  call  men  back  from  the  grave,  can't  it? 
Here  is  a  list  of  five  men  all  extinguished  in  this  prison  by 
breach  of  Rule  37.  You  start :  understand  me,  this  is  but  a 
small  portion  of  those  who  have  been  done  to  death  here  in 
various  ways ;  but  these  five  dropped  silently  like  autumn 
leaves  by  breach  of  Rule  37.  Rule  37  is  one  of  the  safety- 
valves  which  the  law,  more  humane  than  the  blockheads  who 
execute  it,  has  attached  to-  that  terrible  engine  separate  con- 
finement." 

"I  cannot  accept  this  without  evidence." 

"I  have  a  book  here  that  contains  ample  evidence;  you 
shall  see  it.  Meantime  I  will  just  ask  that  turnkey  about 
Hatchett,  the  first  name  on  your  list  of  victims.  Evans,  what 
did  you  find  in  Hatchett's  cell  when  he  was  first  discovered 
to  be  dying?" 

"Eighteen  loaves  of  bread,  sir,  on  the  floor  in  one  corner." 

"Eighteen  loaves !     I  really  don't  understand." 

"Don't  you?  How  could  eighteen  loaves  have  accumu- 
lated but  by  the  man  rejecting  his  food  for  several  days? 
How  could  they  have  accumulated  unobserved  if  Rule  37  had 
not  been  habitually  broken  ?  Alas !  sir,  Hatchett's  story, 
which  I  see  is  still  dark  to  you,  is  as  plain  as  my  hand  to  all 
of  us  who  know  the  fatal  effects  of  solitary  or  homicidal 
confinement.  Thus,  sir,  it  was : — Unsustained  by  rational 
employment,  uncheered  by  the  sound  of  a  human  voice,  torn 
out  by  the  roots  from  all  healthy  contact  with  the  human 
race,  the  prisoner  Hatchett's  heart  and  brain  gave  way  to- 
gether. Being  now  melancholy  mad,  he  shunned  the  food 
that  was  jerked  blindly  into  his  cell,  like  a  bone  to  a  wolf, 
by  this  scientific  contrivance  to  make  brute  fling  food  to  brute, 
instead  of  man  handing  it  with  a  smile  to  grateful  man ; 
and  so  his  body  sank  (his  spirits  and  reason  had  succumbed 
before),  and  he  died.     His  offence  was  refusing  to  share  his 

311 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

wages  with  a  woman  from  whom  he  would  have  been  di- 
vorced, but  that  he  was  too  poor  to  buy  justice  at  so  dear  a 
shop  as  the  House  of  Lords.  The  law  condemned  him  to  a 
short  imprisonment.  The  gaoler  on  his  own  authority  substi- 
tuted capital  punishment." 

"Is  it  your  pleasure,  sir,  that  I  should  be  vilified  and  in- 
sulted thus  to  my  very  face,  and  by  my  inferior  officer?" 
asked  Hawes,  changing  colour. 

"You  have  nothing  to  apprehend  except  from  facts,"  was 
the  somewhat  cold  reply.  "You  are  aware  I  do  not  share 
this  gentleman's  prejudices." 

"Would  you  like  to  see  a  man  in  the  act  of  perishing 
through  the  habitual  breach  of  Rule  37  in Gaol  ?" 

"Can  you  show  me  such  a  case?" 

"Come  with  me." 

They  entered  Strutt's  cell.  They  found  the  old  man  in  a 
state  bordering  on  stupor.  When  the  door  was  opened  he 
gave  a  start,  but  speedily  relapsed  into  stupor. 

"Now,  Mr.  Lacy,  here  is  a  lesson  for  you.  Would  to  God 
I  could  show  this  sight  to  all  the  pedants  of  science  who 
spend  their  useless  lives  in  studying  the  limbs  of  the  crusta- 
ceonidunculfe,  and  are  content  to  know  so  little  about  man's 
glorious  body ;  and  to  all  the  State  dunces  who  give  sordid 
blockheads  the  power  to  wreck  the  brains  and  bodies  of 
wicked  men  in  these  the  clandestine  shambles  of  the  nation. 
Would  I  could  show  these  and  all  other  numskulls  in  the 
land  this  dying  man,  that  they  might  write  this  one  great 
truth  in  blood  on  their  cold  hearts  and  muddy  understand- 
ings. Alas !  all  great  truths  have  to  be  written  in  blood  ere 
man  will  receive  them." 

"But  what  is  your  great  truth?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy  impa- 
tiently. 

"This,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Eden,  putting  his  finger  on  the 
stupefied  prisoner's  shoulder  and  keeping  it  there ;  "that  the 
human  body,  besides  its  grosser  wants  of  food  and  covering, 
has  its  more  delicate  needs,  robbed  of  which  it  perishes  more 
slowly  and  subtly,  but  as  surely  as  when  frozen  or  starved. 
One  of  these  subtle  but  absolute  conditions  of  health  is  light. 
Without  Hght  the  body  of  a  blind  man  pines  as  pines  a  tree 
without  light.     Tell  that  to  the  impostor  Physical  Science, 

312 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

deep  in  the  crustaceonidunculae  and  ignorant  of  the  ABC 
of  man.  Without  light  man's  body  perishes,  with  insufficient 
light  it  droops ;  and  here  in  all  these  separate  shambles  is 
insufficient  light,  a  defect  in  our  system  which  co-operates 
with  this  individual  gaoler's  abuse  of  it.  Another  of  the 
body's  absolute  needs  is  work ;  another  is  conversation  with 
human  beings.  If,  by  isolating  a  vulgar  mind  that  has  col- 
lected no  healthy  food  to  feed  on  in  time  of  dearth,  you  starve 
it  to  a  stand-still,  the  body  runs  down  like  a  watch  that  has 
not  been  wound  up.  Against  this  law  of  Nature  it  is  not 
only  impious  but  idiotic  to  struggle.  Almighty  God  has 
made  man  so,  and  so  he  will  remain  while  the  world  lasts. 
A  little  destructive  blockhead  like  this  can  knock  God's  work 
to  pieces — ecce  signmn — but  he  can  no  more  alter  it  while  it 
stands  than  he  can  mend  it  when  he  has  let  it  down  and 
smashed  it.  Feel  this  man's  pulse  and  look  at  his  eye :  life 
is  ebbing  from  him  by  a  law  of  Nature  as  uniform  as  that 
which  governs  the  tides." 

"His  pulse  is  certainly  very  low,  and  when  I  first  felt  it  he 
was  trembling  all  over." 

"Oh,  that  was  the  agitation  of  his  nerves — we  opened  the 
door  suddenly." 

"And  did  that  make  a  man  tremble?" 

"Certainly ;  that  is  a  well-known  symptom  of  solitary  con- 
finement; it  is  by  shattering  a  man's  nerves  all  to  pieces  that 
it  prepares  the  way  for  his  death,  which  death  comes  some- 
times in  raging  lunacy,  of  which  eight  men  have  died  under 
Mr.  Hawes's  reign.  Here  is  the  list  of  deaths  by  lunacy 
from  breach  of  Rule  37,  eight.  You  will  have  the  particu- 
lars by  and  by." 

"I  really  don't  see  my  way  through  this,"  said  Mr.  Lacy; 
"let  us  come  to  something  tangible.  What  is  this  punish- 
ment-jacket that  leaves  marks  of  personal  violence  on  so 
many  prisoners?" 

Now  Hawes  had  been  looking  for  this  machine  to  hide  it, 
but  to  his  surprise  neither  he  nor  Fry  could  find  it. 

"Evans,  fetch  the  infernal  machine." 

"Yes,  your  reverence." 

Evans  brought  the  jacket,  straps,  and  collar  from  a  cell 
where  he  had  hidden  them  by  Mr.  Eden's  orders. 

313 


k 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


H 


"You  play  the  game  pretty  close,  parson,"  said  Mr,  Hawes 
with  an  attempt  at  a  sneer. 

"I  play  to  win :  I  am  playing  for  human  lives.  This,  sir, 
is  the  torture,  marks  of  which  you  have  seen  on  the  prisoners ; 
but  your  inexperience  will  not  detect  at  a  glance  all  the  dia- 
bolical ingenuity  and  cruelty  that  lurks  in  this  piece  of  linen 
and  these  straps  of  leather.  However,  it  works  thus : — The 
man  being  in  the  jacket,  its  back  straps  are  drawn  so  tight 
that  the  sufferer's  breath  is  impeded,  and  his  heart,  lungs, 
and  liver  are  forced  into  unnatural  contact.  You  stare.  I 
must  inform  you  that  Nature  is  a  wonderfully  close  packer. 
Did  you  ever  unpack  a  human  trunk  of  its  stomach,  liver, 
lungs,  and  heart,  and  then  try  to  replace  them  ?  I  have ;  and 
believe  me,  as  no  gentleman  can  pack  like  a  shopman,  so  no 
shopman  can  pack  like  Nature.  The  victim's  body  and  or- 
gans being  crushed,  these  two  long  straps  fasten  him  so  tight 
to  the  wall  that  he  cannot  move  to  ease  the  frightful  cramps 
that  soon  attack  him.  Then  steps  in  by  way  of  climax  this 
collar  three  inches  and  a  half  high.  See,  it  is  as  stiff  as  iron, 
and  the  miscreants  have  left  the  edges  unbound  that  it  may 
do  the  work  of  a  man  saw  as  well  as  a  garrote.  In  this  iron 
three-handed  grip  the  victim  writhes  and  sobs  and  moans 
with  anguish,  and,  worse  than  all,  loses  his  belief  in  God. 

"This  is  a  stern  picture,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  hanging  his 
head. 

"Until,  what  with  the  freezing  of  the  blood  in  a  body 
jammed  together  and  flattened  against  a  wall — what  with  the 
crushed  respiration  and  the  cowed  heart,  a  deadly  faintness 
creeps  over  the  victim  and  he  swoons  away !" 

"Oh !" 

"It  is  a  lie — a  base  malignant  lie !"  shouted  Hawes. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Hawes." 

Here  the  justices  with  great  heat  joined  in,  and  told  Mr. 
Lacy  he  would  be  much  to  blame  if  he  accepted  any  state- 
ment made  against  so  respectable  a  man  as  Mr.  Hawes. 
Then  they  all  turned  indignantly  on  Mr.  Eden.  That  gentle- 
man's eyes  sparkled  with  triumph. 

"I  have  been  trying  a  long  time  to  make  him  speak,  but  he 
was  too  cunning.     It  is  a  lie,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is  a  iie." 

314 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"What  is  a  lie  ?" 

"The  whole  thing." 

"Give  me  your  book,  Mr.  Hawes.  What  do  you  mean  by 
'the  punishment- jacket,'  an  entry  that  appears  so  constantly 
here  in  your  handwriting?" 

"I  never  denied  the  jacket." 

"Then  what  is  the  lie  of  which  you  have  accused  me? 
Show  me,  that  I  may  ask  your  pardon  and  His  I  serve  for  so 
great  a  sin  as  a  lie." 

"It  is  a  lie  to  say  that  the  jacket  tortures  the  prisoners  and 
makes  them  faint  away ;  it  only  confines  them.  You  want  to 
make  me  out  a  villain,  but  it  is  your  own  bad  heart  that 
makes  you  think  so  or  say  so  without  thinking  it." 

"Now,  Mr.  Lacy,  I  think  we  have  caught  our  eel.  This 
then  is  the  ground  you  take ;  if  it  were  true  that  this  engine, 
instead  of  merely  confining  men,  tortured  them  to  fainting, 
then  you  say  you  would  be  a  villain.  You  hesitate,  sir;  can't 
you  afford  to  admit  that,  after  all?" 

"Yes,  I  can." 

"But,  on  the  other  hand,  you  say  it  is  untrue  that  this  en- 
gine tortures?" 

"I  do." 

"Prove  that  by  going  into  it  for  one  hour.  I  have  seen 
you  put  a  man  in  it  for  six." 

"Now  do  you  really  think  I  am  going  to  make  myself  a 
laughing-stock  to  the  whole  prison?" 

"Well,  but  consider  what  a  triumph  you  are  denying  your- 
self, to  prove  me  a  liar  and  yourself  a  true  man.  It  would 
be  the  greatest  feat  of  dialectics  the  world  ever  saw ;  and 
you  need  not  stand  on  your  dignity — better  men  than  you 
have  been  in  it,  and  there  goes  one  of  them.  Here,  Evans, 
come  this  way.  We  want  you  to  go  into  the  punishment- 
jacket." 

The  man  recoiled  with  a  ludicrous  face  of  disgust  and  dis- 
may.    Mr.  Lacy  smiled. 

"Now,  your  reverence,  don't  think  of  it.  I  don't  want  to 
earn  no  more  guineas  that  way." 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy. 

"I  gave  him  a  guinea  to  go  into  it  for  half  an  hour,  and  he 
calls  it  a  hard  bargain," 

315 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Oh,  you  have  been  in  it  then?  Tell  me,  is  it  torture  or  is 
it  only  confinement?" 

"Con-finement !  con-found  such  confinement,  I  say.  Yes, 
it  is  torture,  and  the  worst  of  torture.  Ask  his  reverence,  he 
has  been  in  the  oven  as  well  as  me." 

Mr.  Lacy  opened  his  eyes  wide.  "What !"  said  he  with  a 
half  grin,  "have  you  been  in  it?" 

"That  he  has,  sir,"  said  Evans^,  grinning  out  in  return. 
"Bless  you,  his  reverence  is  not  the  one  to  ask  a  poor  man  to 
stand  any  pain  he  daren't  face  himself." 

"There,  there !  we  don't  want  to  hear  about  his  reverence," 
said  his  reverence  very  sharply.  "Mr.  Hawes  says  it  is  not 
torture,  and  therefore  he  won't  face  it.  Tt  is  too  laughable 
and  painless  for  me,'  says  slippery  Mr.  Hawes.  Tt  is  tor- 
ture, and  therefore  I  won't  face  it,'  says  the  more  logical  Mr. 
Evans,  But  we  can  cut  this  knot  for  you,  Mr.  Lacy.  There 
are  in  this  dungeon  a  large  body  of  men  so  steeped  in  misery, 
so  used  to  torture  for  their  daily  food,  that  they  will  not  be 
so  nice  as  Messrs.  Hawes  and  Evans.  Fiat  experimentum 
in  corpore  vili.  Follow  me,  sir ;  and  as  we  go,  pray  cast  your 
eyes  over  the  prison  rules,  and  see  whether  you  can  find  'a 
punishment-jacket.'  No,  sir,  you  will  not  find  even  a  Span- 
ish collar,  or  a  pillory,  or  a  cross,  far  less  a  punishment- 
jacket  which  combines  those  several  horrors." 

Mr.  Hawes  hung  back  and  begged  a  word  with  the  jus- 
tices. "Gentlemen,  you  have  always  been  good  kind  friends 
to  me.  Give  me  a  word  of  advice,  or  at  least  let  me  know 
your  pleasure.  Shall  I  resign — shall  I  fling  my  commission 
in  this  man's  face  who  comes  here  to  usurp  your  office  and 
authority  ?" 

"Resign !  Nonsense !"  said  Mr.  Williams.  "Stand  firm. 
We  will  stand  by  you,  and  who  can  hurt  you  then?" 

"You  are  very  good,  sir.  Without  you  I  couldn't  put  up 
with  any  more  of  this — to  be  baited  and  badgered  in  my  own 
prison,  after  serving  my  Queen  so  many  years  by  sea  and 
land." 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Mr.  Woodcock. 

"And  how  can  I  make  head  against  such  a  man  as  Eden — 
a  lawyer  in  a  parson's  skin,  an  orator,  too,  that  has  a  hundred 
words  to  say  to  my  one?" 

316 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Let  him  talk  till  he  is  hoarse;  we  will  not  let  him  hurt 
you." 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen,  thank  you.  Your  wishes  have  al- 
ways been  my  law.  You  bid  me  endure  all  this  insolence; 
honoured  by  your  good  opinion  and  supported  by  your  prom- 
ise to  stand  by  me,  I  will  endure  it."  And  Mr.  Hawes  was 
seen  to  throw  off  the  uneasiness  he  had  put  on  to  bind  the 
magistrates  to  his  defence. 

"They  are  coming  back  again." 

"Who  is  this  with  them  ?" 

Mr.  Hawes  muttered  an  oath.  "It  is  a  refractory  prisoner 
I  had  sent  to  the  dark  cell.  I  suppose  they  will  examine 
him  next,  and  take  his  word  against  mine." 

(Chorus  of  Visiting  Justices). — "Shame!" 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

MR.  EDEN  had  taken  Mr.  Lacy  to  the  dark  cells.  Evans, 
who  had  no  key  of  them,  was  sent  to  fetch  Fry  to 
open  them.  "We  will  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone — disinter 
a  patient  for  our  leathern  gallows,  and  a  fresh  incident  of 
the Inquisition.     Open  this  door,  Mr.  Fry." 

The  door  was  opened.  A  feeble  voice  uttered  a  quavering 
cry  of  joy  that  sounded  like  wailing,  and  a  figure  emerged 
so  suddenly  and  distinctly  from  the  blackness,  that  Mr.  Lacy 
started.  It  was  Thomas  Robinson,  who  crept  out  white  and 
shaking,  with  a  wild  haggard  look.  He  ran  to  Mr.  Eden 
like  a  great  girl.  "Don't  let  me  go  back — don't  let  me  go 
back,  sir !"  And  the  cowed  one  could  hardly  help  whimpering. 

"Come,  courage,  my  lad,"  rang  out  Mr.  Eden,  "your 
troubles  are  nearly  over.     Feel  this  man's  hand,  sir." 

"How  he  trembles !     Why,  he  must  be  chicken-hearted." 

"No!  only  he  is  one  of  your  men  of  action,  not  of  passive 
fortitude.  He  is  imaginative  too,  and  suffers  remorse  for  his 
crimes  without  the  soothing  comfort  of  penitence.  Twenty- 
four  hours  of  that  hole  would  deprive  him  or  any  such  nature 
of  the  light  of  reason." 

"Is  this  a  mere  opinion,  or  do  you  propose  to  offer  me 
proof?" 

317 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Six  men  driven  by  this  means  alone  to  the  lunatic  asylum, 
of  whom  two  died  there  soon  after." 

"Hum !  of  what  nature  is  your  proof  ?  I  cannot  receive 
assertion." 

"Entries  made  at  the  time  by  a  man  of  unimpeachable  hon- 
esty."—"Indeed  !" 

"Who  hates  me  and  adores  Mr.  Hawes." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Eden,"  replied  the  other  keenly,  "what- 
ever you  support  by  such  evidence  as  that  I  will  accept  as 
fact  and  act  upon  it." 

"Done !" 

"Done !"  and  Mr.  Lacy  smiled  good-humouredly,  but  it 
must  be  owned  incredulously.  "Is  that  proof  at  hand?"  he 
added. 

"It  is.  But  one  thing  at  a  time — the  leathern  gallows  is 
the  iniquity  we  are  unearthing  at  present.  Ah !  here  are  Mr. 
Hawes  and  his  subordinates." 

"Subordinates  ?' 

"You  will  see  why  I  call  them  so." 

Mr.  Williams. — I  trust  you  will  not  accept  the  evidence  of 
a  refractory  prisoner  against  an  honest,  well-tried  officer, 
whose  conduct  for  two  years  past  we  have  watched  and  ap- 
proved. 

Mr.  Lacy  replied  with  dignity,  "Your  good  opinion  of 
Mr.  Hawes  shall  weigh  in  his  favour  at  every  part  of  the  evi- 
dence, but  you  must  not  dictate  to  me  the  means  by  which  I 
am  to  arrive  at  the  truth." 

Mr.  Williams  bit  his  lip  and  was  red  and  silent. 

"But,  your  reverence,"  cried  Robinson,  "don't  let  me  be 
called  a  refractory  prisoner  when  you  know  I  am  not." 

"Then  what  were  you  in  the  black-hole  for?" 

"For  obeying  orders." 

"Nonsense  !  hum  !     Explain." 

"His  reverence  said  to  me,  'You  are  a  good  writer;  write 
your  own  life  down.  See  how  you  like  it  when  you  look  at  it 
with  reason's  eye  instead  of  passion's,  all  spread  out  before 
you  in  its  true  colours.  Tell  the  real  facts — no  false  coin, 
nor  don't  put  any  sentiments  down  you  don't  feel,  to  please 
me — I  shall  only  despise  you,'  said  his  reverence.  Well,  sir, 
T  am  not  a  fool,  and,  so  of  course  I  could  see  how  wise  his 

318 


''The  door  was  opened     .      .      .      and  a  figure  emerged  so  suddenly 
and  distinctly  from  the  blackness,  that  Mr.  Lacy  started" 


\ 


II 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

reverence  was,  and  how  much  good  might  come  to  my  poor 
sinful  soul  by  doing  his  bidding;  and  I  said  a  little  prayer  he 
had  taught  me  against  a  self-deceiving  heart — his  reverence 
is  always  letting  fly  at  self-deception — and  then  I  sat  down 
and  I  said,  'Now  I  won't  tell  a  single  lie  or  make  myself  a 
pin  better  or  worse  than  I  really  am.'  Well,  gentlemen,  I 
hadn't  written  two  pages  when  ]\Ir.  Fry  found  me  out  and 
told  the  governor,  and  the  governor  had  me  shoved  into  the 
black-hole,  where  you  found  me." 

"This  is  ?^Ir.  Fry,  I  think?" 

"My  name  is  Fry." 

"Was  this  prisoner  sent  to  the  black-hole  merely  for  writ- 
ing his  life  by  the  chaplain's  orders?" 

"You  must  ask  the  governor,  sir.  My  business  is  to  report 
offences  and  to  execute  orders ;  I  don't  give  'em." 

"Mr.  Hawes,  was  he  sent  to  the  black-hole  for  doing  what 
the  chaplain  had  set  him  to  do  by  way  of  a  moral  lesson?" 

"He  was  sent  for  scribbling  a  pack  of  lies  without  my 
leave." 

"What !  when  he  had  the  permission  of  your  superior 
officer." 

"Of  my  superior  officer?" 

"Your  superior  in  the  department  of  instruction,  I  mean. 
Can  you  doubt  that  he  is  so  with  these  rules  before  you  ?  Let 
me  read  you  one  of  them :  'Rule  i8.  AH  prisoners,  includ- 
ing those  sentenced  to  hard  labour,  arc  to  have  such  time  al- 
lowed them  for  instruction  as  the  chaplain  may  think  proper, 
whether  such  instruction  zcithdraz^'  them  from  their  labour 
for  a  time  or  not."  And  again,  by  'Rule  30.  Each  prisoner 
is  to  have  every  means  of  moral  and  religious  instruction  the 
chaplain  shall  select  for  each  as  suitable/  So  that  you  have 
passed  out  of  your  own  department  into  a  higher  depart- 
ment, w^hich  was  a  breach  of  discipline,  and  you  have  affront- 
ed the  head  of  that  department  and  strained  your  authority  to 
undermine  his,  and  this  in  the  face  of  Rule  18,  which  estab- 
lishes this  principle  :  that  should  the  severities  of  the  prison 
claim  a  prisoner  by  your  mouth,  and  religious  or  moral  in- 
struction claim  him  by  the  chaplain's,  your  department  must 
give  way  to  the  higher  department." 

"This  is  very  new  to  me,  sir;  but  if  it  is  the  Ia\v " 

319 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Why,  you  see  it  is  the  law,  printed  for  your  guidance.  I 
undo  your  act,  Mr.  Hawes ;  the  prisoner  Robinson  will  obey 
the  chaplain  in  all  things  that  relate  to  religious  or  moral  in- 
struction, and  he  will  write  his  life  as  ordered,  and  he  is  not 
to  be  put  to  hard  labour  for  twenty-four  hours.  By  this 
means  he  will  recover  his  spirits  and  the  time  and  moral  im- 
provement you  have  made  him  lose.  You  hear,  sir?"  added 
he  very  sharply. 

"I  hear,"  said  Hawes  sulkily. 

"Go  on  with  your  evidence,  Mr.  Eden." 

"Robinson,  my  man,  you  see  that  machine?" 

"Ugh!  yes,  I  see  it." 

"For  two  months  I  have  been  trying  to  convince  Mr. 
Hawes  that  engine  is  illegal.  I  failed ;  but  I  have  been  more 
fortunate  with  this  gentleman  who  comes  from  the  Home 
Office.  He  has  not  taken  as  many  minutes  to  see  it  is  un- 
lawful." 

"Stop  a  bit,  Mr.  Eden.  It  is  clearly  illegal,  but  the  torture 
is  not  proved." 

"Nor  ever  will  be,"  put  in  Mr.  Hawes. 

"So  then,  Robinson,  no  man  on  earth  has  the  right  to  put 
you  into  that  machine." 

"Hurrah !" 

"It  is,  therefore,  as  a  favour  that  I  ask  you  to  go  into  it  to 
show  its  operation." 

"A  favour,  your  reverence,  to  you?  I  am  ready  in  a 
minute." 

Robinson  was  jammed,  throttled,  and  nailed  in  the  man- 
press.  Mr.  Lacy  stood  in  front  of  him  and  eyed  him  keenly 
and  gravely.     "They  seem  very  fond  of  you,  these  fellows." 

"Can  you  give  your  eyes  to  that  sight,  and  your  ears  to 
me?"  asked  Mr.  Eden.— "I  can." 

"Then  I  introduce  to  you  a  new  character — Mr.  Fry.  Mr. 
Fry  is  a  real  character,  unlike  those  of  romance  and  melo- 
drama, which  are  apt  to  be  either  a  streak  of  black  paint  or 
else  a  streak  of  white  paint.  Mr.  Fry  is  variegated.  He  is  a 
moral  magpie ;  he  is,  if  possible,  as  devoid  of  humanity  as  his 
chief;  but  to  balance  this  defect,  he  possesses,  all  to  himself, 
a  quality,  a  very  high  quality,  called  Honesty." 

"Well,  that  is  a  high  quality,  and  none  too  common." 

320 


A  _ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"He  is  one  of  those  men  to  whom  veracity  is  natural.  He 
would  hardly  know  how  to  tell  a  falsehood.  They  fly  about 
him  in  this  place  like  hailstones,  but  I  never  saw  one  come 
from  him." 

"Stay !  does  he  side  with  you  or  with  Mr.  Hawes  in  this 
unfortunate  difference  ?" 

"With  me!"  cried  Mr.  Hawes  eagerly. 

Mr.  Eden  bowed  assent.     "Hum !" 

"This  honest  Nero  is  zealous  according  to  his  light;  he 
has  kept  a  strict  record  of  the  acts  and  events  of  the  gaol  for 
four  years  past,  i.e.,  rather  more  than  two  years  of  Captain 
O'Connor's  gaolership,  and  somewhat  less  than  two  years  of 
the  present  gaoler.  Such  a  journal,  rigorously  kept  out  of 
pure  love  of  truth  by  such  a  man,  is  invaluable.  There  no 
facts  are  likely  to  be  suppressed  or  coloured,  since  the  record 
was  never  intended  for  any  eye  but  his  own.  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Fry  will  gratify  you  with  the  sight  of  this  journal.  Oblige 
me,  Mr.  Fry !" 

"Certainly,  sir,  certainly !"  replied  Fry,  swelling  with  im- 
portance and  gratified  surprise. 

"Bring  it  me  at  once,  if  you  please." 

Fry  went  with  alacrity  for  his  journal. 

"Mr.  Lacy,"  said  Mr.  Eden  with  a  slight  touch  of  reproach, 
"you  can  read  not  faces  only,  but  complexions.  You  read 
in  my  yellow  face  and  sunken  eye  prejudice;  what  do  you 
read  here  ?"  and  he  wheeled  like  lightning  and  pointed  to  Mr. 
Hawes,  whose  face  and  very  lips  were  then  seen  to  be  the 
colour  of  ashes.  The  poor  wretch  tried  to  recover  com- 
posure and  retort  defiance ;  but  the  effort  came  too  late :  his 
face  had  been  seen,  and  once  seen,  that  look  of  terror,  an- 
guish, and  hatred  was  never  to  be  forgotten. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Hawes?" 

"W — w — when  I  think  of  my  long  services,  and  the  satis- 
faction I  have  given  to  my  superiors,  and  now  my  turnkey's 
journal  to  be  taken  and  believed  against  mine !" 

(Chorus  of  Justices.) — "It  is  a  shame!" 

Mr.  Eden  (very  sharply). — Against  yours?  What  makes 
him  think  it  will  be  against  him?  The  man  is  his  admirer 
and  an  honest  man.  What  injustice  has  he  to  dread  from 
such  a  source? 

21  321 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Lacy. — I  really  cannot  understand  your  objection  to  a 
man's  evidence  whose  bias  lies  your  way ;  and  I  must  say  it 
speaks  well  for  Mr.  Eden  that  he  has  proposed  this  man  in 
evidence. 

At  this  juncture  the  magistrates,  after  a  short  consulta- 
tion, informed  Mr.  Lacy  that  they  had  business  of  more 
importance  to  transact,  and  could  give  no  more 
time  to  what  appeared  to  them  an  idle  and  useless  in- 
quiry. 

"At  all  events,  gentlemen,"  replied  Mr.  Lacy,  'T  trust  you 
will  not  leave  the  gaol.  I  am  not  here  to  judge  Mr.  Hawes, 
but  to  see  whether  Mr.  Eden's  demand  for  a  formal  inquiry 
into  his  acts  ought  to  be  granted  or  refused.  Now,  unless 
the  evidence  takes  some  new  turn,  I  incline  to  think  I  must 
favour  the  inquiry ;  that  is  to  say,  should  the  chaplain  persist 
in  demanding  it." 

"Which  I  shall." 

"Should  a  royal  commission  be  appointed  to  sit  here,  I 
should  naturally  wish  to  consult  you  as  to  the  component 
members  of  the  commission ;  and  it  is  my  wish  to  pay  you  the 
compliment  usual  in  such  cases  of  selecting  one  of  the  three 
commissioners  from  your  body.  But  one  question,  gentle- 
men, before  you  go.  Have  you  complied  with  No.  i  of  these 
your  rules?  Have  you  visited  every  prisoner  in  his  or  her 
cell  once  a  month?" 

"Certainly  not !" 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  Of  course  at  each  visit  you  have 
closely  examined  this  the  gaoler's  book,  a  record  of  his  acts 
and  the  events  of  the  gaol  ?" 

"Portions  of  it  are  read  to  us;  this  is  a  form  which  I  be- 
lieve is  never  omitted, — is  it,  Mr.  Hawes?" 

"Never,  gentlemen !" 

"  'Portions !'  and  'a  form !'  what  then  are  your  acts  of 
supervision?  Do  you  examine  the  turnkeys,  and  compare 
their  opinions  with  the  gaoler's  ?" 

"We  would  not  be  guilty  of  such  ungentlemanly  be- 
haviour!" replied  Mr.  Williams,  who  had  been  longing  for 
some  time  to  give  Mr.  Lacy  a  slap. 

"Do  you  examine  the  prisoners  apart,  so  that  there  can  be 
no  intimidation  of  them  ?" 

322 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"We  always  take  Mr.  Hawes  into  the  cells  with  us." 

"Why  do  you  do  that,  pray?" 

"We  conceive  that  nothing  would  be  gained  by  encour- 
aging the  refuse  of  mankind  to  make  frivolous  complaints 
against  their  best  friend." 

Here  the  speaker  and  his  mates  wore  a  marked  air  of  self- 
satisfaction. 

"Well,  sir,  has  the  present  examination  in  no  degree  shaken 
your  confidence  in  Mr.  Hawes's  discretion?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"Nor  in  your  own  mode  of  scrutinising  his  acts  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"That  is  enough !  Gentlemen,  I  need  detain  you  no  longer 
from  the  business  you  have  described  as  more  important  than 
this !" 

Mr.  Lacy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Mr.  Eden  smiled  to 
him,  and  said  quietly,  "As  they  were  in  the  days  of  Shakes- 
peare, so  they  were  in  the  days  of  Fielding;  as  they  were  in 
the  days  of  Fielding,  so  they  are  in  the  days  of  light ;  and  as 
they  are  now,  so  will  they  remain  until  they  are  swept  away 
from  the  face  of  the  soil.  (Keep  your  eye  on  Mr.  Hawes, 
edging  away  there  so  adroitly.)  It  is  not  their  fault,  it  is 
their  nature ;  their  constitution  is  rotten ;  in  building  them, 
the  State  ignored  Nature,  as  Hawes  ignores  her  in  his  self- 
invented  discipline." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"That  no  body  of  men  ever  gave  for  nothing  any- 
thing worth  anything,  nor  ever  will.  Now  knowledge  of 
law  is  worth  something;  zeal,  independent  judgment, 
honesty,  humanity,  diligence,  are  worth  something  (are 
you  watching  Mr.  Hawes,  sir?)  ;  yet  the  State,  greedy 
goose,  hopes  to  get  them  out  of  a  body  of  men  for 
nothing !" 

"Hum!     Why  has   Mr.   Hawes   retired?" 
"You  know  as  well  as  I  do." 
"Oh,  do  I?" 

"Yes,  sir!  the  man's  terror  when  Fry's  journal  was  pro- 
posed in  evidence,  and  his  manner  of  edging  away  obliquely 
to  the  direction  Fry  took,  were  not  lost  on  a  man  of  your  in- 
telligence." 

323 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"If  you  think  that,  why  did  you  not  stop  him  till  Fry  came 
back  with  the  book?" 

"I  had  my  reasons;  meantime  we  are  not  at  a  stand-still. 
Here  is  an  attested  copy  of  the  journal  in  question ;  and  here 
is  Mr.  Hawes's  log-book :  Fry's  book  intended  for  no  mortal 
eye  bvit  his  own ;  Hawes's  concocted  for  inspection." 

"I  see  a  number  of  projecting  marks  pasted  into  Fry's 
journal !" 

"Yes,  sir ;  on  some  of  these  marks  are  written  the  names  of 
remarkable  victims  recurring  at  intervals ;  on  others  are  in- 
scribed the  heads  of  villainy — 'the  black-hole,'  'starvation,' 
'thirst,'  'privation  of  exercise,'  'of  bed,'  'of  gas,'  'of  chapel,' 
'of  human  converse,'  'inhuman  threats,'  and  the  infernal  tor- 
ture called  'the  punishment-jacket,' — somewhat  on  the  plan 
of  'Watt's  Bibliotheca  Britannica.'  So  that  you  can  at  will 
trace  any  one  of  Mr.  Hawes's  illegal  punishments,  and  see  it 
running  like  a  river  of  blood  through  many  hapless  names ; 
or  you  can,  if  you  like  it  better,  track  a  fellow-creature  drip- 
ping blood  from  punishment  to  punishment  from  one  dark 
page  to  another,  till  release,  lunacy,  or  death  closes  the  list 
of  his  recorded  sufferings." 

Aided  by  Mr.  Eden,  who  whirled  over  the  leaves  of  Mr. 
Hawes's  log-book  for  him,  Mr.  Lacy  compared  several  pages 
of  the  two  books.  The  following  is  merely  a  selected  speci- 
men of  the  entries  that  met  his  eye : — 


Mr.  Fry. 


Mr.  Hawes. 


J  Oram:  Writing  on  his  can — 
bread  and  water. 

J  Oram:    Bread  and  water. 

J  Oram:    Bread  and  water. 

J  Oram:  Crank  not  performed — 
bread  and  water. 

J  Oram:  Punishment-jacket. 

J  Oram :  Refractory  —  crank  ; 
bread  and  water. 

J  Oram:  Attempted  suicide;  in- 
sensible when  found ;  had  cut  off 
pieces  of  his  hair  to  send  to  his 
friends — sick-list. 

Josephs:  Crank  not  performed; 
says  he  could  not  turn  the  crank 
No.  9;  punishment-jacket. 


J  Oram :    Refractory — bread    and 
water. 

J  Oram:      Refractory  —  crank; 
bread  and  water. 


J  Oram:  Refractory — bread  and 
water. 

J  Oram:  Feigned  suicide;   cause, 

religious  despondency — put  on 
sick-list. 

Josephs:  Refractory ;  said  he 
would  not  work  on  crank  9;  pun- 
ishment-jacket. 


324 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


Mr.  Fry. 

Tomson:  Communicating  in 
chapel — dark  cell  twelve  hours. 

Tomson:   Bread  and  water. 

Tomson:  Crank  not  performed 
— punishment-j  acket. 

Tomson:   Dark  cells. 

Tomson:   No  chapel 

Tomson:  Dark  cells. 

Tomson:   Melancholy.. 

Tomson:  Very  strange. 

Tomson:  Removed  to  lunatic 
asylum. 

Tanner:  (Nine  years  old) 
Caught  up  at  window ;  asked 
what  he  did  there ;  said  he 
wanted  to  feel  the  light — jacket 
and  bread   and   water   three   days. 

TcMmier:  For  repining — chapel 
and  gas  stopped  until  content. 


Mr.  Hawes. 

Tomson:    Communicating — dark 
cells. 

Tomson:    Refractory — jacket. 


Tomson:      Afflicted     with      re- 
morse   for    past   trimes — surgeon. 

Tomson:   Removed  to  asylum. 

Tanner:  Caught  up  at  window ; 
answered    insolently — jacket. 


Tanner:  Refractory  language^ 
forbidden  chapel  until  reforma- 
tion. 


"Can  I  see  such  a  thing  as  a  prisoner  who  has  attempted 
suicide?"  inquired  he,  with  lingering  increduUty. 

"Yes !  there  are  three  on  this  landing.  Come  first  to 
Joram,  of  whom  Mr.  Hawes  writes  that  he  made  a  sham  at- 
tempt on  his  life  in  a  fit  of  religious  despondency — Mr.  Fry, 
that  having  been  jacketed  and  put  on  bread  and  water  for 
several  days,  he  became  depressed  in  spirits,  and  made  a  real 
attempt  on  his  life.  Ah !  here  is  Mr.  Fry,  he  is  coming  this 
way  to  tell  you  his  first  falsehood.  Hawes  has  been  all  this 
while  persuading  him  to  it." 

"Where  is  your  journal,  Mr.  Fry?" 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Fry,  hanging  his  head,  "I  can't  show 
it  you.  I  lent  it  to  a  friend,  now  I  remember,  and  he  has 
taken  it  out  of  the  gaol ;  but,"  added  he  with  a  sense  of  re- 
lief, "you  can  ask  me  any  questions  you  like  and  I'll  answer 
them  all  one  as  my  book." 

"Well,  then,  was  Joram's  attempt  at  suicide  a  real  or  a 
feigned  one?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  it  was  a  real  one.  I  found  him  insen- 
sible, and  he  did  not  come  to  for  best  part  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

325 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Open  his  cell." 

"Joram,  I  am  here  from  the  Secretary  of  State  to  ask  you 
some  questions.  Answer  them  truly  and  without  fear.  Some 
months  ago  you  made  an  attempt  on  your  life." 

The  prisoner  shuddered  and  hung  his  head. 

"Don't  be  discouraged,  Joram,"  put  in  Mr.  Eden  kindly; 
"this  gentleman  is  not  a  harsh  judge — he  will  make  allow- 
ances." 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen." 

"What  made  you  attempt  your  life?"  persisted  ]\Ir.  Lacy. 
"Was  it  from  religious  despondency?" 

"That  it  was  not.  What  did  I  know  about  religion  before 
his  reverence  here  came  to  the  gaol  ?  No,  sir,  I  was  clammed 
to  death." 

"Clammed?" 

"Yes,  sir,  clammed  and  no  mistake." 

"North-country  word  for  starved,"  explained  Mr.  Eden. 

"No,  sir,  I  was  starved  as  well.  It  was  very  cold  weather, 
and  they  gave  me  nothing  but  a  roll  of  bread  no  bigger  than 
my  fist  once  a  day  for  best  part  of  a  week.  So  being  starved 
with  cold  and  clammed  with  hunger,  I  knew  I  couldn't  live 
many  hours  more,  and  then  the  pain  in  my  vitals  was  so 
dreadful,  sir.  I  was  obliged  to  cut  it  short.  Ay !  ay !  your 
reverence,  I  know  it  was  very  wicked,  but  what  was  I  to  do? 
If  I  hadn't  attempted  my  life  I  shouldn't  be  alive  now.  A 
poor  fellow  doesn't  know  what  to  do  in  such  a  place  as 
this." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  "I  promise  you  your  food  shall 
never  be  tampered  with  again." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Oh,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of  now, 
sir ;  they  have  never  clammed  me  since  I  attempted  my 
life." 

Mr.  Eden. — Suicide  is  at  a  premium  here. 
"What  was  your  first  offence?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy. 
"Writing  on  my  can." 
"What  did  you  write  on  the  can?" 
"I  wrote,  'I  want  to  speak  to  the  governor.' " 
"Couldn't  you  ring  and  ask  to  see  him?" 
"Ring  and  ask !    I  had  rung  half-a-dozen  times  and  asked 
to  see  him,  and  could  not  get  to  see  him.     My  hand  was  blis 

326 


i 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO   MEND 


tered,  and  I  wanted  to  ask  him  to  put  me  on  a  different  sort 
of  work  till  such  time  as  it  could  get  leave  to  heal." 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "observe  the  sequence  of  in- 
iquity. A  refractory  gaoler  defies  the  discipline  of  the  prison. 
He  breaks  Rule  37  and  other  rules  by  which  he  is  ordered  to 
be  always  accessible  to  a  prisoner.  The  prisoner  being  in  a 
strait,  through  which  the  gaoler  alone  can  guide  him,  begs 
for  an  interview ;  unable  to  obtain  this,  in  his  despair  he 
writes  one  innocent  line  on  his  can  imploring  the  gaoler  to 
see  him.  None  of  the  beasts  say  'What  has  he  written  ?'  they 
say  only,  'Here  be  scratches,'  and  they  put  him  on  bread  and 
water  for  an  illegal  period ;  and  Mr.  Hawes's  new  and  illegal 
interpretation  of  'bread  and  water'  is  aimed  at  his  life.  I 
mean,  that  instead  of  receiving  three  times  per  diem  a  weight 
of  bread  equal  to  the  weight  of  his  ordinary  diets  (which  is 
clearly  the  intention  of  the  bread  and  water  statute),  he  has 
once  a  day  four  ounces  of  bread.  So  because  a  refractory 
gaoler  breaks  the  discipline,  a  prisoner  with  whom  no  breach 
of  the  discipline  originated  is  feloniously  put  to  death  unless 
he  'cuts  it  short,'  by  that  which  in  every  spot  of  the  earth  but 
Gaol  is  a  deadly  crime  in  Heaven's  eyes — self-mur- 
der." 

"What  an  eye  your  reverence  ha'  got  for  things !  Well, 
now,  it  doesn't  sound  quite  fair,  does  it?  But  stealing  is  a 
dog's  trick,  and  if  a  man  behaves  like  a  dog,  he  must  look  to 
be  treated  like  one ;  and  he  will  be  too." 

"That  is  right.  Joram ;  you  look  at  it  from  that  point  of 
view,  and  we  will  look  at  it  from  another." 

"Open  Nay  lor 's  cell.  Nay  lor,  what  drove  you  to  attempt 
suicide  ?" 

"Oh,  you  know,  sir." 

"But  this  gentleman  does  not." 

"Well,  gents,  they  had  15een  at  me  a  pretty  while  one  way 
and  another;  they  put  me  in  the  jacket  till  I  fainted  away." 

"Stop  a  minute;  is  the  jacket  very  painful?" 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  it,  sir." 

"What  is  its  effect  ?     What  sort  of  pain  ?" 

"Why,  all  sorts !  it  crushes  your  very  heart.  Then  it  makes 
you  ache  from  your  hair  to  your  heel  till  you  would  thank 
and  bless  any  man  to  knock  you  on  the  head.     Then  it  takes 

327 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

you  by  the  throat  and  pinches  you  and  rasps  you  all  at  one 
time.  However,  I  don't  think  but  what  I  could  have  stood 
up  against  that  if  I  had  had  food  enough ;  but  how  can  a 
chap  face  trouble  and  pain  and  hard  labour  on  a  crumb  a 
day?  However,  what  finally  screwed  up  my  stocking  alto- 
gether, gents,  was  their  taking  away  my  gas.  It  was  the 
dark  winter  nights,  and  there  was  me  set  with  an  empty  belly 
and  the  cell  like  a  grave.  So  then  I  turned  a  little  queer  in 
the  head  by  all  accounts,  and  I  saw  things  that — hem ! — 
didn't  suit  my  complaint  at  all,  you  know." 

"What  things?" 

"Well,  gents,  it  is  all  over  now,  but  it  makes  me  shiver 
still,  so  I  don't  care  to  be  reminded;  let  us  drop  it,  if  it  is  all 
the  same  to  you." 

"But,  Naylor,  for  the  sake  of  other  poor  fellows  and  to 
oblige  me." 

"Oh,  your  reverence,  if  I  can  oblige  you,  that  alters  the 
case  entirely.  Well  then,  sir,  if  you  must  know,  I  saw  'Child 
of  Heir  wrote  in  great  letters  of  fire  all  over  that  side  of  the 
cell.  Always  every  evening  this  was  all  my  society,  as  the 
saying  is :  'Child  of  Hell'  wrote  ten  times  brighter  than  gas." 

"Couldn't  you  shut  your  eyes  and  go  to  sleep?"  said  Mr. 
Lacy. 

"How  could  I  sleep?  And  I  did  shut  my  eyes,  and  then 
the  letters  they  came  through  my  eyelids.  So  when  this  fell 
on  the  head  of  all  my  troubles,  I  turned  wild,  and  I  said  to 
myself  one  afternoon,  'Now  here  is  my  belly  empty,  and 
nothing  coming  to  it.  and  there  is  the  sun  a-setting,  and  by 
and  by  my  cell  will  be  brimful  of  hell-fire — let  me  end  my 
troubles,  and  get  one  night's  rest  if  I  never  see  another.'  So 
I  hung  myself  up  to  the  bar  by  my  hammock-strap,  and  that 
is  all  I  remember  except  finding  myself  on  my  back  with  Mr. 
Fry  and  a  lot  round  me,  some  coaxing  and  some  cursing; 
and  when  I  saw  where  I  was,  I  fell  a  crying  and  blubbering 
to  think  that  I  had  so  nearly  broke  prison,  and  there  they 
had  got  me  still.  I  daresay  Mr.  Fry  rememberp  how  I 
took  on." 

"Ay,  my  man,  I  remember;  we  got  no  thanks  for  bringing 
you  to." 

"I  was  a  poor  unconverted  sinner  then,"  replied  Mr.  Nay- 

328 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

lor  demurely,  "and  didn't  know  my  fault  and  the  conse- 
quences ;  but  I  thank  you  now  with  all  my  heart,  Mr.  Fry, 
sir." 

"I  am  to  understand,  then,  that  you  accuse  the  gaoler  of 
driving  you  to  suicide  by  unlawful  severities?" 

"No,  sir,  I  don't.  I  only  tell  you  how  it  happened,  and 
you  shouldn't  have  asked  me  if  you  didn't  care  to  know ;  and 
as  for  blaming  folk,  the  man  I  blame  the  most  is  John  Nay- 
lor.  His  reverence  there  has  taught  me  to  look  at  home.  If 
I  hadn't  robbed  honest  folk,  I  shouldn't  have  robbed  myself 
of  character  and  liberty  and  health,  and  Mr.  Hawes  wouldn't 
have  robbed  me  of  food  and  light  and  life  well-nigh.  Cer- 
tainly there  is  a  deal  of  ignorance  and  stupidity  in  this  here 
gaol.  The  governor  has  no  head-piece ;  can't  understand  that 
a  prisoner  is  made  out  of  the  same  stuff  as  he  is — skin  and 
belly,  heart,  soul,  bones  an'  all.  I  should  say  he  wasn't  fit 
to  be  trusted  with  the  lives  of  a  litter  of  pigs,  let  alone  a 
couple  of  hundred  men  and  women ;  but  all  is  one  for  that ; 
if  he  was  born  without  any  gumption,  as  the  saying  is,  I 
wasn't,  and  I  didn't  ought  to  be  in  a  fool's  power ;  that  is  my 
fault  entirely,  not  the  fool's — ain't  it  now?  If  I  hadn't  come 
to  the  mill,  the  miller  would  never  have  grinded  me !  I 
sticks  to  that!" 

"Well  said,  Naylor.  Come,  sir ;  One  higher  than  the  State 
takes  precedence  here :  we  must  on  no  account  shake  a  Chris- 
tian frame  of  mind  or  rekindle  a  sufferer's  wrongs.  Yes, 
Naylor,  forgive  and  you  shall  be  forgiven.  I  am  pleased 
with  you,  greatly  pleased  with  you,  my  poor  fellow.  There 
is  my  hand !"  Naylor  took  his  reverence's  hand,  and  his 
very  forehead  reddened  with  pride  and  pleasure  at  so  warm 
a  word  of  praise  from  the  revered  mouth. 

They  went  out  of  the  cell.  Being  now  in  the  corridor,  Mr. 
Eden  addressed  the  Government  official  thus : — 

"My  proofs  draw  to  a  close.  I  could  multiply  instances  ad 
infinitum — but  what  is  the  use?  If  these  do  not  convince 
you,  you  would  not  believe  though  one  rose  from  the  dead. 
What  do  I  say?  Have  not  Naylor  and  Joram  and  many 
others  come  back  from  the  dead  to  tell  you  by  what  roads 
they  were  driven  there  ?  One  example  remains  to  be  shown  : 
to  a  philosophical  mind  it  is  no  stronger  than  the  rest;  but 

329 


n    IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

there  are  many  men  who  can  receive  no  very  strong  impres- 
sion except  through  their  senses.  You  may  be  one  of  these ; 
and  it  is  my  duty  to  give  your  judgment  everv  aid.  Where 
is  Mr.  Fry  ?     He  has  left  us." 

"I  am  coming  to  attend  you,  sir,"  cried  Evans  from  above. 
"Mr.  Fry  is  gone  to  the  governor." 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy. 

"To  examine  a  prisoner  whom  the  gaoler  tortured  with 
the  jacket,  and  starved,  and  ended  by  robbing  him  of  his  gas 
and  his  bed,  contrary  to  law.  Evans,  since  you  are  here,  re- 
late all  that  happened  to  Edward  Josephs  on  the  4th  of  this 
month — and  mind  you  don't  exaggerate." 

"Well,  sir,  they  had  been  at  him  for  near  a  month  over- 
tasking him,  and  then  giving  him  the  jacket,  and  starving 
him  and  overtasking  him  again  on  his  empty  stomach,  till  the 
poor  lad  was  a  living  skeleton.  On  the  4th  the  governor  put 
him  in  the  jacket,  and  there  he  was  kept  till  he  swooned." 

"Ah !" 

"Then  they  flung  two  buckets  of  water  over  him,  and  that 
brought  him  to.  Then  they  sent  him  to  his  cell,  and  there 
he  was  in  his  wet  clothes.  Then  him  being  there  shaking 
with  cold,  the  governor  ordered  his  gas  to  be  taken  away — 
his  hands  were  shaking  over  it  for  a  little  warmth  when  they 
robbed  him  of  that  bit  o'  comfort." 

"Hum!" 

"Contrary  to  law !"  put  in  Mr.  Eden. 

"Well,  sir,  he  was  a  quiet  lad,  not  given  to  murmur,  but  at 
losing  his  gas  he  began  to  cry  out  so  loud  you  might  hear 
him  all  over  the  prison." 

"What  did  he  cry?" 

"Sir,  he  cried,  'Murder  !'  " 

"Go  on." 

"Then  I  came  to  him  and  found  him  shivering  and  drip- 
ping, and  crying  fit  to  break  his  poor  heart," 

"And  did  you  do  nothing  for  him?" 

"I  did  what  I  could,  sir.  I  took  him  and  twisted  his  bed- 
clothes so  tight  round  him  the  air  could  not  get  in,  and  be- 
fore I  left  him  his  sobs  went  down  and  he  looked  like  warm 
and  sleeping  after  all  his  troubles.  Well,  sir,  they  can  tell 
you  better  that  did  the  job,  but  it  seems  the  governor  sent 

330 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

another  turnkey  called  Hodges  to  take  away  his  bed  from 
under  him." 

"Oh !" 

"Well,  sir ! — oh  dear  me !  I  hope,  your  reverence,  I  shall 
never  have  to  tell  this  story  again,  for  it  chokes  me  every 
time."  And  the  man  was  unable  to  go  on  for  a  while. 
"Well,  sir,  the  poor  thing,  it  seems,  didn't  cry  out  as  he  had 
about  the  gas,  he  took  it  quite  quiet — that  might  have  let 
them  know,  but  some  folk  can  see  nothing  till  it  is  too  late — 
and  he  gave  Hodges  his  hand  to  show  he  bore  him  no  malice. 
Eh  dear !  eh  dear !  Would  to  Heaven  I  had  never  seen  this 
wicked  place !" 

"Wicked  place  indeed!"  said  Mr.  Lacy  solemnly.  "You 
make  me  almost  dread  to  ask  the  result." 

"You  shall  see  the  result.     Evans !" 

Evans  opened  cell  15,  and  he  and  Mr.  Eden  stood  sorrow- 
ful aside  while  Mr.  Lacy  entered  the  cell.  The  first  thing  he 
saw  was  a  rude  coffin  standing  upright  by  the  window,  the 
next  a  dead  body  lying  stark  upon  a  mattress  on  the  floor. 
The  official  uttered  a  cry  like  the  scream  of  a  woman !  "What 
is  this?     How  dare  you  bring  me  to  such  a  place  as  this?" 

"This  is  that  Edward  Josephs,  whose  sufferings  you  have 
heard  and  pitied." 

"Poor  wretch !  Heaven  forgive  us !  What  did  he — did 
he ?" 

"He  took  one  step  to  meet  inevitable  death — he  hanged 
himself  that  same  night  by  his  handkerchief  to  this  bar.  Turn 
his  poor  body,  Evans.  See,  sir,  here  is  Mr.  Hawes's  mark 
upon  his  back.  These  livid  stripes  are  from  the  infernal 
jacket  and  helped  to  lash  him  into  his  grave.  You  are  ill ! 
Here !  some  wine  from  my  flask !     You  will  faint  else  !" 

"Thank  you !  Yes,  I  was  rather  faint.  It  is  passed.  Mr. 
Eden,  I  find  my  life  has  been  spent  among  words — things 
of  such  terrible  significance  are  new  to  me.  God  forgive  us ! 
how  came  this  to  pass  in  England  in  the  nineteenth  century ! 
The scoundrel !" 

"Kick  him  out  of  the  gaol,  but  do  not  swear:  it  is  a  sin. 
By  removing  him  from  this  his  great  temptation  we  may 
save  even  his  blood-stained  soul.  But  the  souls  of  his  vic- 
tims !     Oh,  sir,  when  a  good  man  is  hurried  to  his  grave,  our 

331 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

lamentations  are  natural  but  unwise ;  but  think  what  he  com- 
mits who  hurries  thieves  and  burglars  and  homicides  unpre- 
pared before  their  eternal  Judge.  In  this  poor  boy  lay  the 
materials  of  a  saint — mild,  docile,  grateful,  believing.  I  was 
winning  him  to  all  that  is  good  when  I  fell  sick.  The  suf- 
ferings I  saw  and  could  not  stop — they  made  me  sick.  You 
did  not  know  that  when  you  let  my  discoloured  cheeks  preju- 
dice you  against  my  truth.  Oh,  I  forgive  you,  dear  sir! 
Yes,  Heaven  is  inscrutable ;  for  had  I  not  fallen  ill — yes,  I 
was  leading  you  up  to  heaven,  was  I  not?  Oh,  my  lost 
sheep!  my  poor  lost  sheep!"  And  the  faithful  shepherd,  at 
the  bottom  of  whose  wit  and  learning  lay  a  heart  simpler 
than  beats  in  any  dunce,  forgot  Hawes  and  everything  else 
and  began  to  mourn  by  the  dead  body  of   his  wandering  sheep. 

Then  in  that  gloomy  abode  of  blood  and  tears  Heaven 
wrought  a  miracle.  One  who  for  twenty  years  past  had  been 
an  official  became  a  man  for  full  five  minutes.  Light  bursts 
on  him — Nature  rushed  back  upon  her  truant  son  and  seized 
her  long- forgotten  empire.  The  frost  and  reserve  of  office 
melted  like  snow  in  summer  before  the  sun  of  religion  and 
humanity.  How  unreal  and  idle  appeared  now  the  twenty 
years  gone  in  tape  and  circumlocution !  Away  went  his  life 
of  shadows — his  career  of  watery  polysyllables  meandering 
through  the  great  desert  into  the  Dead  Sea.  He  awoke  from 
his  desk  and  saw  the  corpse  of  an  Englishman  murdered  by 
routine,  and  the  tears  of  a  man  of  God  dripping  upon  it. 

Then  his  soul  burst  its  desk  and  his  heart  broke  its  poly- 
syllables and  its  tapen  bonds,  and  the  man  of  office  came 
quickly  to  the  man  of  God  and  seized  his  hand  with  both  his, 
which  shook  very  much,  and  pressed  it  again  and  again  and 
again,  and  his  eyes  glistened  and  his  voice  faltered,  "This 
shall  never  be  again.  How  these  tears  honour  you !  but  they 
cut  me  to  the  heart.  There !  there !  I  believe  eyery  word  you 
have  told  me  now.  Be  comforted !  you  are  not  to  blame ! 
there  were  always  villains  in  the  world,  and  fools  like  us  that 
could  not  understand  or  believe  in  an  apostle  like  you.  We 
are  all  in  fault,  but  not  you !  Be  comforted !  Law  and 
order  shall  be  restored  this  very  day,  and  none  of  these  poor 
creatures  shall  suffer  violence  again  or  wrong  of  any  sort — 
by  God!" 

332 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

So  these  two  grasped  hands  and  pledged  faith,  and  for 
awhile  at  least  joined  hearts. 

Mr.  Eden  thanked  him  with  a  grace  and  dignity  all  his 
own.  Then  he  said  with  a  winning  sweetness,  "Go  now, 
my  dear  sir,  and  do  your  duty.  Act  for  once  upon  an  im- 
pulse. At  this  moment  you  see  things  as  you  will  see  them 
when  you  come  to  die.  A  light  from  heaven  shines  on  your 
path  at  this  moment.  Walk  by  it  ere  the  world  dims  it. 
Go  and  leave  me  to  repent  the  many  unchristian  tempers  I 
have  shown  you  in  one  short  hour,  my  heat  and  bitterness 
and  arrogance — in  this  solemn  place." 

"His  unchristian  temper !  poor  soul !  There,  take  me  to 
the  justices,  Mr.  Evans,  and  you  follow  me  as  soon  as  you 
like.  Yes,  my  worthy  friend,  I  will  act  upon  an  impulse  for 
once.     Ugh !" 

Wheeling  rapidly  out  of  the  cell  as  unlike  his  past  self  as  a 
pin-wheel  in  a  shop-drawer  and  ditto  ignited,  he  met  at  the 
very  door  Mr.  Hawes !  "You  have  been  witnessing  a  sad 
sight,  sir,  and  one  that  nobody,  I  assure  you,  deplores  more 
than  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Hawes  in  a  gentle  and  feeling. tone. 

Mr.  Lacy  answered  Mr.  Hawes  by  looking  him  all  over 
from  head  to  foot  and  back,  then  looking  sternly  into  his 
eyes,  he  turned  his  back  on  him  sharp,  and  left  him  standing 
there  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE  gaoler  had  been  outwitted  by  the  priest.  Hawes 
had  sneaked  after  Fry  to  beg  him  for  Heaven's  sake 
— that  was  the  phrase  he  used — not  to  produce  his  journal. 
Fry  thought  this  very  hard,  and  it  took  Hawes  ten  minutes  to 
coax  him  over.  Mr.  Eden  had  calculated  on  this,  and  worked 
with  the  attested  copy  while  Hawes  was  wasting  his  time 
suppressing  the  original.  Hawes  was  too  cunning  to  accom- 
pany Fry  back  to  Mr.  Lacy ;  he  allowed  five  minutes  more  to 
elapse :  all  which  time  his  antagonist  was  pumping  truth  into 
the  judge  a  gallon  a  stroke.  At  last  up  came  Mr.  Hawes  to 
protect  himself  and  baffle  the  parson :  he  came,  he  met  Mr. 
Lacy  at  the  dead  prisoner's  door,  and  read  his  defeat. 

333 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Lacy  joined  the  justices  in  their  room.  "I  have  one 
question  to  ask  you,  gentlemen,  before  I  go : — How  many  at- 
tempts at  suicide  were  made  in  this  gaol  under  Captain 
O'Connor  while  sole  gaoler?" 

"I  don't  remember,"  replied  Mr.  Williams. 

"It  would  be  add  if  you  did,  for  no  one  such  attempt  took 
place  under  him." 

"Are  you  aware  how  many  attempts  at  suicide  took  place 
during  the  two  years  that  this  Hawes  governed  a  part  of  the 
gaol,  being  kept  in  some  little  check  by  O'Connor,  but  not 
much,  as  unfortunately  you  encouraged  the  inferior  ofificer  to 
defy  his  superior?  Five  attempts  at  suicide  during  this  pe- 
riod, gentlemen.  And  now  do  you  know  how  many  such 
attempts  have  occurred  since  Mr.  Hawes  has  been  sole 
gaoler?" 

"I  really  don't  know.  Prisoners  are  always  shamming," 
replied  Mr.   Woodcock. 

"I  do  not  allude  to  feigned  attempts,  of  which  there  have 
been  several,  but  to  desperate  attempts,  some  of  which  have 
left  the  prisoner  insensible,  some  have  resulted  in  his  death 
— how  many  of  these?" 

"Four  or  five,  I  believe." 

"Ah!  You  have  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  inquire! 
Hum!  well,  fourteen  at  least.  Come  in,  Mr.  Eden.  Gentle- 
men, you  have  neglected  your  duty.  Making  every  allow- 
ance for  your  inexperience,  it  still  is  clear  that  you  have  un- 
dertaken the  supervision  of  a  gaol,  and  yet  have  exercised  no 
actual  supervision ;  even  now  the  life  or  death  of  the  prison- 
ers seems  to  you  a  matter  of  indifference.  If  you  are  reck- 
less on  such  a  point  as  this,  what  chance  have  the  minor  cir- 
cumstances of  their  welfare  of  being  watched  by  you?  and 
frankly  I  am  puzzled  to  conceive  what  you  proposed  to  your- 
selves when  you  undertook  an  office  so  important  and  requir- 
ing so  great  vigilance.  I  say  this,  gentlemen,  merely  to  ex- 
plain why  I  cannot  have  the  pleasure  I  did  promise  myself, 
of  putting  one  of  your  names  into  the  royal  commission 
which  will  sit  upon  this  prison  in  compliance  with  the  chap- 
lain's petition." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed  gratefully,  and  his  point  being  formally 
gained,  he  hurried  away  to  make  up  for  lost  time  and  visit 

334 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

his  longing  prisoners.  While  he  passed  Hke  sunshine  from 
cell  to  cell,  Mr.  Lacy  took  a  note  or  two  in  solemn  silence, 
and  the  injustices  conferred.  Mr.  Palmer  whispered,  "We 
had  better  have  taken  Mr.  Eden's  advice."  The  other  two 
snorted  ill-assured  defiance.  Mr.  Lacy  looked  up.  "You 
will  hold  yourselves  in  readiness  to  be  examined  before  the 
commission." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Hawes  walked  into  the  room  without 
his  mask,  and  in  his  own  brutal  voice — the  voice  he  spoke 
to  prisoners  with — addressed  himself  with  great  insolence  of 
manner  to  Mr.  Lacy.  "Don't  trouble  yourself  to  hold  com- 
missions over  me.  I  think  myself  worth  a  great  deal  more 
to  the  Government  than  they  have  ever  been  to  me.  What 
they  give  me  is  little  enough  for  what  I  have  given  them,  and 
when  insults  are  added  to  a  man  of  honour  and  an  old  serv- 
ant of  the  Queen,  he  flings  his  commission  in  your  face ;"  and 
the  unveiled  ruffian  raised  his  voice  to  a  roar,  and  with  his 
hand  flung  an  imaginary  commission  into  Mr.  Lacy's  face, 
who  drew  back  astounded ;  then  resuming  his  honeyed  man- 
ner, Hawes  turned  to  the  justices.  "I  return  into  your  hands, 
gentlemen,  the  office  I  received  from  you.  I  thank  you  for 
the  support  you  have  afforded  me  in  my  endeavours  to  sub- 
stitute discipline  for  the  miserable  laxity  and  slovenliness  and 
dirt  we  found  here,  and  your  good  opinion  will  always  con- 
sole me  for  the  insults  I  have  received  from  a  crack-brained 
parson  and  his  tools,  in  the  gaol  and  out  of  it." 

"Your  resignation  is  accepted,"  said  Mr.  Lacy  coldly,  "and 

as  your  connection  with Gaol  is  now  ended,  in  virtue  of 

my  powers  from  the  Secretary  of  State,  which  I  here  pro- 
duce, I  give  you  the  use  of  the  gaoler's  house  for  a  week, 
that  you  may  have  time  to  move  your  effects,  but,  for  many 
reasons,  it  is  advisable  that  you  should  not  remain  in  the 
gaol  a  single  hour.  Be  so  good,  therefore,  as  to  quit  the  gaol 
as  soon  as  you  conveniently  can.  One  of  the  turnkeys  shall 
assist  you  to  convey  to  your  house  whatever  you  have  in  this 
building." 

"I  have  nothing  to  take  out  of  the  gaol,  man,"  replied 
Hawes  rudely,  "except" — and  here  he  did  a  bit  of  pathos  and 
dignity — "my  zeal  for  Her  Majesty's  service,  and  my  in- 
tegrity." 

335 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Ah!"  replied  Mr.  Lacy  quietly,  "you  won't  want  any  help 
to  carry  them." 

Mr.  Hawes  left  the  room  bowing  to  the  justices  and  osten- 
tatiously ignoring  the  Government  official.  Mr.  Williams 
shouted  after  him,  "He  carries  our  respect  wherever  he 
goes,"  said  this  magistrate  with  a  fidelity  worthy  a  better 
cause.  The  other  two  hung  their  heads  and  did  not  echo 
their  chief.  The  tide  was  turned  against  Gaoler  Hawes,  and 
these  two  were  not  the  articles  to  swim  against  the  stream, 
even  though  that  stream  was  truth. 

Mr.  Hawes  took  his  time.  He  shook  hands  with  Fry,  who 
bade  him  farewell  with  regret.  Who  is  there  that  somebody 
does  not  contrive  to  like?  And  rejecting  even  this  mastiffs 
company,  he  made  a  gloomy,  solitary  progress  through  the 
prison  for  the  last  time.  "How  clean  and  beautiful  it  all  is ! 
It  wasn't  like  that  when  I  came  to  it,  and  it  never  will  again." 
Some  gleams  of  remorse  began  to  flit  about  that  thick  skull 
and  self-deceiving  heart,  for  punishment  suggests  remorse 
to  sordid  natures.  But  his  strong  and  abiding  feeling  was  a 
sincere  and  profound  sense  of  ill-usage — long  service — 
couldn't  overlook  a  single  error — ungrateful  Government, 
&c.  "Prison  go  to  the  devil  now — and  serve  them  right." 
At  last  he  drew  near  the  outer  court,  and  there  he  met  a  sight 
that  raised  all  the  fiend  within  him.  There  was  Mr.  Eden 
ushering  Strutt  into  the  garden,  and  telling  Evans  the  old 
man  was  to  pass  his  whole  days  there  till  he  was  better.  "So 
that  is  the  way  you  keep  the  rules  now  you  have  undermined 
me!  No  cell  at  all.  I  thought  what  you  would  come  to. 
You  haven't  been  long  getting  there." 

"Mr.  Hawes,"  replied  the  other  with  perfect  good  temper, 
"Rule  34  of  this  prison  enjoins  that  every  prisoner  shall  take 
daily  as  much  exercise  in  the  open  air  as  is  necessary  for  his 
health.  You  have  violated  this  rule  so  long  that  now  Strutt's 
health  requires  him  to  pass  many  more  hours  in  the  air  than 
he  otherwise  would ;  he  is  dying  for  air  and  amusement,  and 
he  shall  have  both  sooner  than  die  for  the  want  of  them,  or 
of  anything  I  can  give  him." 

"And  what  is  it  to  him?"  retorted  Evans  with  rude  tri- 
umph :  "he  is  no  longer  an  officer  of  this  gaol ;  he  has  got 
the  sack  and  orders  to  quit  into  the  bargain." 

336 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND  ' 

Fear  is  entertained  that  Mr.  Evans  had  listened  more  or 
less  at  the  door  of  the  justices'  room. 

"Is  this  so,  sir?"  asked  Mr.  Eden  gravely,  politely,  and 
without  a  shadow  of  visible  exultation. 

"You  know  it  is,  you  sneaking,  undermining  villain;  you 
have  weathered  on  me,  you  have  out-manoeuvred  me.  When 
was  an  honest  soldier  a  match  for  a  parson  ?" 

"Ah !"  cried  Mr.  Eden ;  "then  run  to  the  gate,  Evans,  and 
let  the  men  into  the  gaol  with  the  printing-press  and  the 
looms.     They  have  been  waiting  for  hours  for  this." 

Hawes  turned  black  with  rage.  "Oh,  I  know  you  made 
sure  of  winning :  a  blackguard  that  loads  the  dice  can  always 
do  that.  Your  triumph  won't  be  long.  I  was  in  this  gaol 
honoured  and  respected  for  four  years  till  you  came.  You 
won't  be  four  months  before  you  are  kicked  out,  and  no  one 
to  say  a  good  word  for  you.  A  pretty  Christian !  to  suborn 
my  own  servants  and  rob  me  of  my  place  and  make  me  a 
beggar  in  my  old  age,  a  man  you  are  not  worthy  to  serve 
under,  a  man  that  served  his  country  by  sea  and  land  before 
you  were  whelped,  ye  black  hypocrite.  You  a  Christian ! 
you?  If  I  thought  that,  I'd  turn  atheist  or  anything, 
you  poor  backbiting — tale-telling — sneaking — undermining 
false  witness-bearing " 

"Unhappy  man,"  cried  Mr.  Eden,  "turn  those  perverse 
eyes  from  the  faults  of  others  to  your  own  danger.  The 
temptations  under  which  you  fell  end  here ;  then  let  their  veil 
fall  from  your  eyes,  and  you  may  yet  bless  those  who  came 
between  your  soul  and  its  everlasting  ruin.  Your  victims 
are  dead ;  their  eternal  fate  is  fixed  by  you.  Heaven  is  more 
merciful — it  has  not  struck  you  dead  by  your  victims'  side ; 
it  gives  you,  the  greatest  sinner  of  all,  a  chance  to  escape. 
Seize  that  chance.  Waste  no  time  in  passion  and  petulance 
— think  only  of  your  forfeited  soul.  Madman,  to  your  knees! 
What !  dare  you  die  as  you  have  lived  these  three  years  past  ? 
dare  you  die  abhorred  of  Heaven  ?  Fool !  see  yourself  as 
every  eye  on  earth  and  in  heaven  sees  you.  The  land  con- 
tains no  criminal  so  black  as  you.  Other  homicides  have 
struck  hastily  on  provocation  or  stung  by  injury,  or  thrust  or 
drawn  by  some  great  passion,  but  you  have  deliberately 
gnawed  away  men's  lives.     Others  have  seen  their  one  vic- 

"  337 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

tim  die,  but  you  have  looked  on  your  many  victims  dying, 
yet  not  spared  them.  Other  homicides'  hands  are  stained, 
but  yours  are  steeped  in  blood.  To  your  knees,  MAN-slayer! 
I  dare  not  promise  you  that  a  life  given  to  penitence  and 
charity  will  save  so  foul  a  soul,  but  it  may,  for  Heaven's 
mercy  is  infinite.  Seize  on  that  small  chance.  Seize  it  like 
one  who  feels  Satan  clutching  him  and  dragging  him  down 
to  eternal  flames.  Life  is  short,  eternity  is  close,  judgment 
is  sure.  A  few  short  years  and  you  must  meet  Edward 
Josephs  again  before  the  eternal  Judge.  What  a  tribunal 
to  face,  your  victims  opposite  you !  There  the  long-stand- 
ing prejudices  that  save  you  from  a  felon's  death  here  will 
avail  you  nothing.  There  the  quibbles  that  pass  current  on 
earth  will  be  blasted  with  the  lips  that  dare  to  utter  and  the 
hearts  that  coin  them.  Before  Him  who  has  neither  body 
nor  parts,  yet  created  all  the  forms  of  matter,  vainly  will  you 
pretend  that  you  did  not  slay  because  forsooth  the  weapons 
with  which  you  struck  at  life  were  invisible,  and  not  to  be 
comprehended  by  a  vulgar  shallow  sensual  earthly  judge. 
There  too  the  imperfection  of  human  language  will  yield  no 
leaf  of  shelter. 

"Hope  not  to  shift  the  weight  of  guilt  upon  poor  Josephs 
there.  On  earth  muddle-heads  will  call  his  death  and  the 
self-murderer's  by  one  name  of  'suicide,'  and  so  dream  the 
two  acts  were  one;  but  you  cannot  gull  Omniscience  with  a 
word — the  wise  man's  counter  and  the  money  of  a  fool.  Be 
not  deceived !  As  Rosamond  took  poison  in  her  hand,  and 
drank  it  with  her  own  lips,  and  died  by  her  own  act,  yet  died 
assassinated  by  her  rival,  so  died  Josephs.  As  men  taken  by 
pirates  at  sea,  and  pricked  with  cold  steel  till  in  despair  and 
pain  they  fling  themselves  into  the  sea,  so  died  Josephs  and 
his  fellows  murdered  by  you.  Be  not  deceived !  I,  a  minis- 
ter of  the  gospel  of  mercy — I,  whose  character  leans  towards 
charity,  tell  you  that  if  you  die  impenitent,  so  surely  as  the 
sun  shines  and  the  Bible  is  true,  the  murder  of  Edward  Jo- 
sephs and  his  brothers  will  damn  your  soul  to  the  flames  of 
hell  for  ever — and  for  ever — and  for  ever! 

"Begone  then,  poor  miserable  creature !  Do  not  look  be- 
hind you.  Fly  from  this  scene  where  crime  and  its  delusions 
still  cling  round  your  brain  and  vour  self-deceiving  heart. 

338 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND" 

Waste  no  more  time  with  me;  a  minute  lost  may  be  a  soul 
lost.  The  avenger  of  blood  is  behind  you.  Run  quickly  to 
your  own  home — go  up  to  your  secret  chamber,  and  there 
fall  down  upon  your  knees  before  your  God,  and  cry  aloud 
and  long  to  Him  for  pardon.  Cry  mightily  for  help — cry 
humbly  and  groaning  for  the  power  to  repent.  Away ! 
away !  Wash  those  red  hands  and  that  black  soul  in  years 
and  years  of  charity,  in  tears  and  tears  of  penitence,  and  in 
our  Redeemer's  blood.  Begone,  and  darken  and  trouble  us 
here  no  more." 

The  cowed  gaoler  shrank  and  cowered  before  the  thunder 
and  lightning  of  the  priest,  who,  mild  by  nature,  was  awful 
when  he  rebuked  an  impenitent  sinner  out  of  Holy  Writ.  He 
slunk  away,  his  knees  trembling  under  him,  and  the  first  fiery 
seeds  of  remorse  sown  in  his  dry  heart.  He  met  the  print- 
ing-press coming  in,  and  the  loom  following  it  (naturally)  ; 
he  scowled  at  them  and  groaned.  Evans  held  the  door  open 
for  him  with  a  look  of  joy  that  stirred  all  his  bile  again. 
He  turned  on  the  very  threshold,  and  spat  a  volley  of  oaths 
upon  Evans.  Evans  at  this  put  down  his  head  like  a  bull, 
and  running  fiercely  with  the  huge  door,  slammed  it  close  on 
his  heel  with  such  ferocity,  that  the  report  rang  like  a  thun- 
der-clap through  the  entire  building,  and  the  ex-gaoler  was 
in  the  street. 

Five  minutes  more,  the  printing-press  and  loom  were  rein- 
stalled, and  the  punishment-jacket  packed  up  and  sent  to 
London  to  the  Home  Office.  Ten  minutes  more,  the  cranks 
were  examined  by  the  artist  in  iron  Air.  Eden  had  sent  for, 
and  all  condemned,  it  being  proved  that  the  value  of  their 
resistance  stated  on  their  lying  faces  was  scarce  one-third  of 
their  actual  resistance.     So  much  for  unerring^  science ! 

^  The  effect  of  this  little  bit  of  science  may  be  thus  stated: — Men 
for  two  years  had  been  punished  as  refractory  for  not  making  all  day 
ten  thousand  revolutions  per  hour  of  a  15-lb.  crank,  when  all  the 
while  it  was  a  45-lb.  crank  they  had  been  vainly  struggling  against 
all  day.  The  proportions  of  this  gory  lie  never  varied.  Each  crank 
tasked  the  Sisyphus  three  times  what  it  professed  to  do.  It  was 
calculated  that  four  prisoners,  on  an  average  crank  marked  10  lbs., 
had  to  exert  an  aggregate  of  force  equal  to  one  horse;  and  this 
exertion  was  prolonged,  day  after  day,  far  beyond  a  horse's  power 
of  endurance,  and  in  many  cases  on  a  modicum  of  food  so  scanty, 
that  no  horse  ever  foaled,  so  fed,  could  have  drawn  an  arm-chair 
a  mile. 

339 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Five  minutes  more,  Air.  Eden  had  placed  in  Mr.  Lacy's 
hands  a  list  of  prisoners  to  whom  a  free  pardon  ought  now 
to  be  extended,  some  having  suffered  a  somewhat  shorter 
period  but  a  greater  weight  of  misery  than  the  judges  had 
contemplated  in  their  several  sentences ;  and  others  being  so 
shaken  and  depressed  by  separate  confinement  pushed  to  ex- 
cess, that  their  life  and  reason  now  stood  in  peril  for  want 
of  open  air,  abundant  light,  and  free  intercourse  with  their 
species.  At  the  head  of  these  was  poor  Strutt,  an  old  man 
crushed  to  clay  by  separate  confinement  recklessly  applied. 
So  alarming  was  this  man's  torpor  to  Mr.  Eden,  that,  after 
trying  in  vain  to  interest  him  in  the  garden,  that  observer 
ventured  on  a  very  strong  measure.  He  had  learned  from 
Strutt  that  he  could  play  the  fiddle ;  what  does  he  do  but 
runs  and  fetches  his  own  violin  into  the  garden,  tunes  it,  and 
plays  some  most  inspiriting  rollicking  old  English  tunes  to 
him !  A  spark  came  into  the  fishy  eye  of  Strutt.  At  the 
third  tune  the  old  fellow's  fingers  began  to  work  impatiently. 
Mr.  Eden  broke  off  directly,  put  fiddle  and  bow  into  Strutt's 
hand,  and  ran  off  to  the  prison  again  to  arrest  melancholy, 
despair,  lunacy,  stagnation,  mortification,  putrefaction,  by 
every  art  that  philosophy  and  mother-wit  could  suggest  to 
Christianity. 

This  determined  man  had  collected  his  teaching  mechanics 
again,  and  he  had  them  all  into  the  prison  the  moment  Hawes 
was  out.  He  could  not  get  the  cranks  condemned  as  mon- 
sters— the  day  was  not  yet  come  for  that;  so  he  got  them 
condemned  as  liars,  and  in  their  place  tasks  of  rational  and 
productive  labour  were  set  to  most  of  the  prisoners,  and  Lon- 
don written  to  for  six  more  trades  and  arts. 

A  copy  of  the  prison  rules  was  cut  into  eight  portions,  and 
eight  female  prisoners  set  to  compose  each  her  portion.  Cop- 
ies to  be  printed  on  the  morrow  and  put  up  in  every  cell,, 
according  to  the  wise  provision  of  Rule  lo,  defied  by  the 
late  gaoler  for  an  obvious  reason.  Thus  in  an  hour  after 
the  body  of  Hawes  had  passed  through  that  gate  a  firm  and 
adroit  hand  was  wiping  his  gloomy  soul  out  of  the  cells  as 
we  wipe  a  blotch  of  ink  off  a  written  page. 

Care,  too,  was  taken  every  prisoner  should  know  the  late 
gaoler   was    gone    for    ever.     This    was    done   to   give   the 

340 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

wretches  a  happy  night.  Ejaculations  of  thanksgiving  burst 
from  the  cells  every  now  and  then ;  by  some  mysterious  means 
the  immured  seemed  to  share  the  joyful  tidings  with  their 
fellows,  and  one  pulse  of  hope  and  triumph  to  beat  and  thrill 
through  all  the  life  that  wasted  and  withered  there  encased 
in  stone ;  and  until  sunset  the  faint  notes  of  a  fiddle  struggled 
from  the  garden  into  the  temple  of  silence  and  gloom,  and 
astounded  every  ear. 

The  merry  tunes  as  Strutt  played  them  sounded  like  dirges, 
but  they  enlivened  him  as  they  sighed  forth.  They  stirred 
his  senses,  and  through  his  senses  his  mind,  and  through  his 
mind  his  body,  and  so  the  anthropologist  made  a  fiddle  help 
save  a  life,  which  fact  no  mortal  man  will  believe  whose 
habit  it  is  to  chatter  blindfold  about  man  and  investigate  the 
"crustaceonidunculae." 

The  cranks  being  condemned,  rational  industry  restored, 
and  the  law  re-seated  on  the  throne  a  manslaughtering  dunce 
had  usurped,  the  champion  of  human  nature  went  home  to 
drink  his  tea  and  write  the  plot  of  his  sermon. 

He  had  won  a  great  battle  and  felt  his  victory.  He  showed 
it  too  in  his  own  way.  On  the  evening  of  this  great  day 
his  voice  was  remarkably  gentle  and  winning,  and  a  celestial 
light  seemed  to  dwell  in  his  eyes ;  no  word  of  exultation,  nor 
even  of  self-congratulation ;  and  he  made  no  direct  mention, 
of  the  prison  all  the  evening.  His  talk  was  about  Susan's 
aflfairs,  and  he  paid  his  warm  thanks  to  her  and  her  aunt  for 
all  they  had  done  for  him.  "You  have  been  true  friends, 
true  allies,"  said  he;  "what  do  I  not  owe  you?  You  have 
supported  me  in  a  bitter  struggle,  and  now  that  the  day  is 
won,  I  can  find  no  words  to  thank  you  as  I  ought." 

Both  these  honest  women  coloured  and  glistened  with 
pleasure,  but  they  were  too  modest  to  be  ready  with  praise 
or  to  bandy  compliments. 

"As  for  you,  Susan,  it  was  a  master-stroke  your  venturing 
into  my  den." 

"Oh,  we  turn  bold  when  a  body  is  ill,  don't  we,  aunt?" 

"I  am  not  shy,  for  one,  at  the  best  of  times,"  remarked  the 
latter. 

"Under  Heaven  you  saved  my  life,  at  least  I  think  so, 
Susan,  for  the  medicinal  power  of  soothing  influence  is  im~ 

341 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

mense ;  I  am  sure  it  is  apt  to  be  underrated ;  and  then  it  was 
you  who  flew  to  Malvern  and  dragged  Gulson  to  me  at  the 
crisis  of  my  fate.  Dear  little  true-hearted  friend,  I  am  sorry 
to  think  I  can  never  repay  you." 

"You  forget,  Mr.  Eden,"  said  Susan  almost  in  a  whisper, 
"I  was  paid  beforehand." 

I  wish  I  could  convey  the  native  grace  and  gentle  dignity 
of  gratitude  with  which  the  farmer's  daughter  murmured 
these  four  words,  like  a  duchess  acknowledging  a  kindness. 

"Eh  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Eden ;  "oh !  ah !  I  forgot,"  said  he 
naively.  "No !  that  is  nonsense,  Susan  :  you  have  still  an  im- 
mense Cr.  against  my  name ;  but  I  know  a  way.  Mrs.  Da- 
vies,  for  as  simple  as  I  sit  here,  you  see  in  me  the  ecclesiastic 
that  shall  unite  this  young  lady  to  an  honest  man,  who,  report 
says,  loves  her  very  dearly ;  so  I  mean  to  square  our  little 
account." 

"That  is  fair,  Susan;  what  do  you  say?" 

"La,  aunt !  why,  I  shouldn't  look  upon  it  as  a  marriage  at 
all  if  any  clergyman  but  Mr.  Eden  said  the  words." 

"That  is  right,"  laughed  ]\Ir.  Eden,  "always  set  some  little 
man  above  some  great  thing,  and  then  you  will  always  be — a 
M^oman.  I  must  write  the  plot  of  my  sermon,  ladies,  but 
you  can  talk  to  me  all  the  same." 

He  wrote  and  purred  every  now  and  then  to  the  women, 
who  purred  to  each  other  and  now  and  then  to  him.  Neither 
Hawes  nor  any  other  irritation  rankled  in  his  heart,  or  even 
stuck  fast  in  his  memory.  He  had  two  sermons  to  prepare 
for  Sunday  next,  and  he  threw  his  mind  into  them  as  he  had 
?nto  the  battle  he  had  just  won.     Hoc  agebaf. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

HIS  reverence  in  the  late  battle  showed  himself  a  strate- 
gist, and  won  without  bringing  up  his  reserves ;  if  he 
had  failed  with  Mr.  Lacy,  he  had  another  arrow  behind  in 
his  quiver.  He  had  been  twice  to  the  mayor  and  claimed  a 
coroner's  jury  to  sit  on  a  suicide:  the  mayor  had  consented, 
and  the  preliminary  steps  had  been  taken. 

The  morning  after  the  gaoler's  dismissal  the  inquest  was 

342 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

held.  Mr.  Eden,  Evans,  Fry,  and  others  were  examined,  and 
the  case  came  out  as  clear  as  the  day  and  black  as  the  night. 

When  twelve  honest  Englishmen,  men  of  plain  sense,  not 
men  of  system,  men  taken  from  the  public,  not  from  public 
offices,  sat  in  a  circle  with  the  corpse  of  a  countryman  at 
their  knees,  Hehat  lux;  'twas  as  though  twelve  suns  had  burst 
into  a  dust-hole. 

"Manslaughter !"  cried  they,  and  they  sent  their  spokesman 
to  the  mayor  and  said  yet  more  light  must  be  let  into  this 
dust-hole,  and  the  mayor  said,  "Ay,  and  it  shall  too.  I  will 
write  to  London  and  demand  more  light."  And  the  men  of 
the  public  went  to  their  own  homes  and  told  their  wives  and 
children  and  neighbours  what  cruelties  and  villainies  they 
had  unearthed,  and  their  hearers,  being  men  and  women  of 
that  people,  which  is  a  God  in  intellect  and  in  heart  compared 
with  the  criticasters  that  try  to  misguide  it  with  their  shallow 
guesses  and  cant,  and  with  the  clerks  that  execute  it  in  other 
men's  names,  cried  out,  "See  now !  What  is  the  use  our 
building  courts  of  law  or  prisons  unless  they  are  to  be  open 
unto  us?  Shut  us  out — keep  walls  and  closed  gates  between 
us  and  our  servants — and  what  comes  of  our  courts  of  law 
and  our  prisons?  Why,  they  turn  nests  of  villainy  in  less 
than  no  time." 

The  twelve  honest  Englishmen  had  hardly  left  the  gaol  an 
hour,  crying  "Manslaughter !"  and  crying  "Shame !"  when 
all  in  a  moment  "Tomb!"  fell  a  single  heavy  stroke  of  the 
great  prison  bell.  The  heart  of  the  prison  leaped  and  then 
grew  cold — a  long  chill  pause,  then  "Tomb  !"  again.  The 
jurymen  had  told  most  of  his  fellow-sufferers  how  Josephs 
was  driven  into  his  grave — and  now,  "Tomb  !"  the  remorse- 
less iron  tongue  crashed  out  one  by  one  the  last  sad  stern 
monosyllables  of  this  sorrowfullest  of  human  tales. 

They  put  him  in  his  coffin  ("Tomb!"),  a  boy  of  sixteen, 
who  would  be  alive  now  but  that  caitiffs,  whom  God  con- 
found on  earth,  made  life  an  impossihUity  to  him  ("Tomb!"), 
and  that  Shallows  and  Woodcocks,  whom  God  confound  on 
earth,  and  unconscientious  non-inspecting  inspectors,  flunk- 
eys, humbugs,  hirelings,  whom  God  confound  on  earth 
("Tomb!"),  left  these  scoundrels  month  after  month  and 
year  after  year  unwatched,  though  largely  paid  bv  the  Queen 

343 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

and  the  people  to  watch  them  ("Tomb!").  Look  on  your 
work,  hirelings,  and  listen  to  that  bell,  which  would  not  be 
tolling  now  if  you  had  been  men  of  brains  and  scruples  in- 
stead of  sordid  hirelings.  The  priest  was  on  his  knees,  pray- 
ing for  help  from  Heaven  to  go  through  the  last  sad  office 
with  composure,  for  he  feared  his  own  heart  when  he  should 
come  to  say  "ashes  to  ashes"  and  "dust  to  dust"  over  this 
hapless  boy,  that  ought  to  be  in  life  still.  And^still  the  great 
bell  tolled,  an^  many  of  the  prisoners  were  invited  kindly  in 
a  whisper  to  come  into  the  chapel ;  but  Fry  could  not  be 
spared  and  Hodges  fiercely  refused.  And  now  the  bell 
stopped,  and  as  it  stopped  the  voice  of  the  priest  arose,  "I 
am  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 

A  deep  and  sad  gloom  was  upon  all  as  the  last  sad  offices 
were  done  for  this  poor  young  creature,  cut  short  by  foul 
play  in  the  midst  of  them.  And  for  all  he  could  do  the 
priest's  voice  trembled  often,  and  a  heavy  sigh  mingled  more 
than  once  with  the  holy  words.  What  is  that?  "This  our 
BROTHER?" — a  thief  our  brother? — ay!  the  priest  made  no 
mistake,  those  were  the  words ;  pause  on  them. 

Two  great  characters  contradicted  each  other  to  the  face 
over  dead  Josephs.  Unholy  State  said,  "Here  is  the  carcass 
of  a  thief  whom  I  and  society  honestly  believe  to  be  of  no 
more  importance  than  a  dog, — so  it  has  unfortunately  got 
killed  between  us,  no  matter  how ;  take  this  carcass  and  bury 
it,"  said  unholy  State.  Holy  Church  took  the  poor  abused 
remains  with  reverence,  prayed  over  them  as  she  prays  over 
the  just,  and  laid  them  in  the  earth,  calling  them  "this  our 
brother."  Judge  now  which  is  all  in  the  wrong,  unholy 
State  or  holy  Church — for  both  cannot  be  right. 

Now  while  the  grave  is  being  filled  in,  judge,  women  of 
England  and  America,  between  these  two — unholy  State  and 
holy  Church.  The  earth  contains  no  better  judges  of  this 
doubt  than  you.  Judge,  and  I  will  bow  to  your  verdict  with 
a  reverence  I  know  male  cliques  too  well  to  feel  for  them  in 
a  case  where  the  great  capacious  heart  alone  can  enlighten 
the  clever  little  narrow  shallow  brain. 

Thus  in  the  nineteenth  century — in  a  kind-hearted  nation — 
under  the  most  humane  sovereign  the  world  has  ever  wit- 
nessed   on    an    earthly    throne — holy    Church    in    vain    de- 

344 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

nouncing  the  miserable  sinners  that  slay  the  thief  their  broth- 
er— Edward  Josephs  has  been  done  to  death  in  the  Queen's 
name — in  the  name  of  England — and  in  the  name  of  the  law. 

But  each  of  these  great  insulted  names  has  its  sworn  de- 
fenders, its  honoured  and  paid  defenders. 

It  is  not  for  us  to  suppose  that  men  so  high  in  honour  will 
lay  aside  themselves  and  turn  curs. 

Ere  I  close  this  long  story,  let  us  hope  I  shall  be  able  to 
relate  with  what  zeal  and  honour  statesmen  disowned  and 
punished  wholesale  manslaughter  done  in  the  name  of  the 
State,  and  with  what  zeal  and  horror  judges  disowned  and 
punished  wholesale  manslaughter  done  in  their  name ;  and  so, 
in  all  good  men's  eyes,  washed  off  the  blood  with  which  a 
hireling  had  bespattered  the  State  ermine  and  the  snow-white 
robe  of  law. 

For  the  present,  the  account  between  Josephs  and  the  law 
stands  thus : — Josephs  has  committed  the  smallest  theft  im- 
aginable. He  has  stolen  food.  For  this  the  law,  professing 
to  punish  him  with  certain  months'  imprisonment,  has  inflict- 
ed capital  punishment ;  has  overtasked,  crucified,  starved — 
overtasked,  starved,  crucified — robbed  him  of  light,  of  sleep, 
of  hope,  of  life ;  has  destroyed  his  body,  and  perhaps  his 
soul.     Sum  total — first  page  of  account — 

Josephs  a  larcenist  and  a  corpse.    The  law  a  liar  and  a  felon. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

JOSEPHS  has  dropped  out  of  our  story.  Mr.  Hawes  has 
got  himself  kicked  out  of  our  story.  The  other  pris- 
oners, of  whom  casual  mention  has  been  made,  were  never 
in  our  story,  any  more  than  the  boy  Xury  in  "Robinson  Cru- 
soe." There  remains  to  us  in  the  prison  Mr.  Eden  and  Rob- 
inson, a  saint  and  a  thief. 

My  readers  have  seen  how  the  saint  has  saved  the  thief's 
life.  They  shall  guess  awhile  how  on  earth  Susan  Merton 
can  be  affected  by  that  circumstance.  They  have  seen  a  set 
of  bipeds  acting  on  the  notion  that  all  prisoners  are  incur- 
able :  they  have  seen  a  thief,  thus  despaired  of.  driven 
towards  despair,  and  almost  made  incurable  through  being 

345 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

thought  so.  Then  they  have  seen  this  supposed  incurable  fall 
into  the  hands  of  a  Christian  that  held  "it  is  never  too  late 
to  mend ;"  and  generally  I  think  that,  feebly  as  my  pen  has 
drawn  so  great  a  character,  they  can  calculate,  by  what  Mr. 
Eden  has  already  done,  what  he  will  do  while  I  am  with 
Susan  and  George;  what  love,  what  eloquence,  what  ingen- 
uity he  will  move  to  save  this  wandering  sheep,  to  turn  this 
thief  honest,  and  teach  him  how  to  be  honest  yet  not  starve. 
I  will  ask  my  reader  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  good  and 
wise  priest  has  no  longer  his  hands  tied  by  a  gaoler  in  the 
interests  of  the  foul  fiend.  But  then  against  all  this  is  to  be 
set  the  slippery  heart  of  a  thief,  a  thief  almost  from  his 
cradle.  Here  are  great  antagonistic  forces,  and  they  will  be 
in  daily,  almost  hourly,  collision  for  months  to  come.  In  life 
nothing  stands  still ;  all  this  will  work  goodwards  or  bad- 
wards.     I  must  leave  it  to  work. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

MR.  EDEN'S  health  improved  so  visibly  that  Susan  Mer- 
ton  announced  her  immediate  return  to  her  father. 
It  was  a  fixed  idea  in  this  young  lady's  mind  that  she  and 
Mrs.  Davies  had  no  business  in  the  house  of  a  saint  upon 
earth,  as  she  called  Mr.  Eden,  except  as  nurses. 

The  parting  of  attached  friends  has  always  a  touch  of  sad- 
ness, needless  to  dwell  on  at  this  time.  Enough  that  these 
two  parted  as  brother  and  young  sister,  and  as  spiritual  ad- 
viser and  advised,  with  warm  expressions  of  Christian  amity, 
and  an  agreement  on  Susan's  part  to  write  for  advice  and 
sympathy  whenever  needed. 

On  her  arrival  at  Grassmere  Farm  there  was  Mr.  Meadows 
to  greet  her.  "Well,  that  is  attentive !"  cried  Susan.  There 
was  also  a  stranger  to  her,  a  Mr.  Clinton. 

As  nothing  remarkable  occurred  this  evening,  we  may  as 
well  explain  this  Mr.  Clinton.  He  was  a  speculator,  and 
above  all,  a  setter  on  foot  of  rotten  speculations,  and  a  keeper 
on  foot  a  little  while  of  lame  ones.  No  man  exceeded  him 
in  the  art  of  rose-tinting  bad  paper  or  parchment.     He  was 

346 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

sanguine  and  fluent.  His  mind  had  two  eyes,  an  eagle's  and 
a  bat's ;  with  the  first  he  looked  at  the  "pros,"  and  with  the 
second  at  the  "cons"  of  a  spec. 

He  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  Meadows,  and  had  come 
thirty  miles  out  of  the  way  to  show  him  how  to  make  lOO 
per  cent,  without  the  shadow  of  a  risk.  Meadows  declined 
to  violate  the  laws  of  Nature,  but  said  he,  "If  you  like  to 
stay  a  day  or  two,  I  will  introduce  you  to  one  or  two  who 
have  money  to  fling  away."  And  he  introduced  him  to  Mr. 
Merton.  Now  that  worthy  had  a  fair  stock  of  latent  cupid- 
ity, and  Mr.  Clinton  was  the  man  to  tempt  it. 

In  a  very  few  conversations  he  convinced  the  farmer  that 
there  were  .a  hundred  ways  of  making  money,  all  of  them 
quicker  than  the  slow  process  of  farming  and  the  unpleasant 
process  of  denying  one's-self  superfluities  and  growing  saved 
pennies  into  pounds. 

"What  do  you  think,  John?"  said  Merton  one  day  to 
Meadows;  "I  have  got  a  few  hundreds  loose.  I'm  half 
minded  to  try  and  turn  them  into  thousands  for  my  girl's 
sake.     Mr.  Clinton  makes  it  clear,  don't  you  think?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  "I  have  no  expe- 
rience in  that  sort  of  thing,  but  it  certainly  looks  well  the 
way  he  puts  it." 

In  short,  Meadows  did  not  discourage  his  friend  from  co- 
operating with  Mr.  Clinton ;  for  his  own  part,  he  spoke  him 
fair,  and  expressed  openly  a  favourable  opinion  of  his  talent 
and  his  various  projects,  and  always  found  some  excuse  or 
other  for  not  risking  a  halfpenny  with  him. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

ONE    day    Mr.    Meadows    walked    into    the   post-office, 
Farnborough,  and  said  to  Jefferies,  the  postmaster, 
"A  word  with  you  in  private,  Mr.  Jefiferies." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Meadows;  come  to  my  back-parlour,  sir. 
A  fine  day,  Mr.  Meadows,  but  I  think  we  shall  have  a  shower 
or  two." 

"Shouldn't  wonder.     Do  you  know  this  five-pound  note?" 

347 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Can't  say  I  do." 

"Why,  it  has  passed  through  your  hands?" — "Has  it? 
Well,  a  good  many  of  them  pass  through  my  hands  in  the 
course  of  the  year.  I  wish  a  few  of  'em  would  stop  on  the 
road." 

"This  one  did.  It  stuck  to  your  fingers,  as  the  phrase 
goes." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  said  Jefiferies 
haughtily, 

"You  stole  it,"  explained  Meadows  quietly. 

"Take  care,"  cried  Jefferies  in  a  loud  quaver — "take  care 
what  you  say!  I'll  have  my  action  of  defamation  against 
you  double  quick  if  you  dare  to  say  such  a  thing  of  me." 

"So  be  it.  You  will  want  witnesses.  Defamation  is  no 
defamation,  you  know,  till  the  scandal  is  published.  Call  in 
your  lodger."— "Ugh !" 

"And  call  your  wife!"  cried  Meadows,  raising  his  voice  in 
turn. 

"Heaven  forbid !  Don't  speak  so  loud,  for  goodness' 
sake !" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  then,  and  don't  waste  my  time  with 
your  gammon,"  said  Meadows  sternly.  Then  resuming  his 
former  manner,  he  went  on  in  the  tone  of  calm  explanation. 
"One  or  two  in  this  neighbourhood  lost  money  coming 
through  the  post.  I  said  to  myself,  'Jefferies  is  a  man  that 
often  talks  of  his  conscience — he  will  be  the  thief ;'  so  I  bait- 
ed six  traps  for  you  and  you  took  five.  This  note  came  over 
from  Ireland;  you  remember  it  now?" — "I  am  ruined!  I  am 
ruined !" 

"You  changed  it  at  Evans'  the  grocer's ;  you  had  four 
sovereigns  and  silver  for  it.  The  other  baits  were  a  note  and 
two  sovereigns  and  two  half-sovereigns.  You  spared  one 
sovereign,  the  rest  you  nailed.  They  were  all  marked  by 
Lawyer  Crawley.  They  have  been  traced  from  your  hand, 
and  lie  locked  up  ready  for  next  assizes.  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Jefferies." 

Jefferies  turned  a  cold  jelly  where  he  sat.  and  Meadows 
walked  out,  primed  Crawley,  and  sent  him  to  stroll  in  sight 
of  the  post-ofifice. 

Soon  a  quavering  voice  called  Crawley  into  the  post-office. 

348 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Come  into  my  back-parlour,  sir.  Oh,  Mr.  Crawley,  can 
nothing-  be  done?  No  one  knows  my  misfortune  but  you  and 
Mr.  Meadows.  It  is  not  for  my  own  sake,  sir,  but  my  wife's. 
If  she  knew  I  had  been  tempted  so  far  astray,  she  would 
never  hold  up  her  head  again.  Sir,  if  you  and  Mr.  Meadows 
will  let  me  ofif  this  once,  I  will  take  an  oath  on  my  bended 
knees  never  to  offend  again." 

"What  good  will  that  do  me?"  asked  Crawley  contemptu- 
ously. 

"Ah !"  cried  Jefferies,  a  light  breaking  in,  "will  money 
make  it  right?     I'll  sell  the  coat  off  my  back." 

"Humph !  If  it  was  only  me,  but  Mr.  Meadows  has  such 
a  sense  of  public  duty,  and  yet — hum ! — I  know  a  way  to 
influence  him  just  now." 

"Oh,  sir,  do  pray  use  your  influence  with  him." 

"What  will  you  do  for  me  if  I  succeed  ?" 

"Do  for  you  ? — cut  myself  in  pieces  to  serve  you." 

"Well,  Jefferies,  I'm  undertaking  a  difficult  task  to  turn 
such  a  man  as  Meadows,  but  I  will  try  it,  and  I  think  I  shall 
succeed;  but  I  must  have  terms.  Every  letter  that  comes 
here  from  Australia  you  must  bring  to  me  with  your  own 
hands  directlv." 

"I  will,  sir^  I  will." 

"I  shall  keep  it  an  hour  or  two  perhaps,  not  more ;  and  I 
shall  take  no  money  out  of  it." — "I  wall  do  it,  sir,  and  with 
pleasure.     It  is  the  least  I  can  do  for  you." 

"And  you  must  find  me  £io."  The  little  rogue  must  do  a 
bit  on  his  own  account. 

"I  must  pinch  to  get  it,"  said  Jefferies  ruefully. 

"Pinch  then,"  replied  Crawley  coolly,  "and  let  me  have  it 
directly." — "You  shall — you  shall — before  the  day  is  out." 

"And  you  must  never  let  Meadows  know  I  took  this  money 
of  you."— "No,  sir.  I  won't !     Is  that  all  ?" 

"That  is  all." — "Then  I  am  very  grateful,  sir,  and  I  won't 
fail,  you  may  depend." 

Thus  the  two  battledores  played  with  this  poor  little  unde- 
tected one,  whom  his  respectability  no  less  than  his  roguery 
placed  at  their  mercy. 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

WHENEVER  Mr.  Meadows  could  do  Mr.  Levi  an  ill 
turn  he  did,  and  vice  versa.  They  hated  one  another 
like  men  who  differ  about  baptism.  Susan  sprinkled  dew- 
drops  of  charity  on  each  in  turn. 

Levi  listened  to  her  with  infinite  pleasure.  "Your  voice," 
said  he,  "is  low  and  melodious,  like  the  voice  of  my  own 
people  in  the  East."  And  then  she  secretly  quoted  the  New 
Testament  to  him,  having  first  ascertained  that  he  had  never 
read  it;  and  he  wondered  where  on  earth  this  simple  girl 
picked  up  so  deep  a  wisdom  and  so  lofty  and  seif-denying 
a  morality. 

Meadows  listened  to  her  with  respect  from  another  cause; 
but  the  ill  offices  that  kept  passing  between  the  two  men 
counteracted  her  transitory  influence,  and  fed  fat  the  ancient 
grudge. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WILL  FIELDING  is  in  the  town;  I'm  to  arrest  him 
as  agreed  last  night?" — "Hum!  no!" 

"Why,  I  have  got  the  judgment  in  my  pocket  and  the 
constable  at  the  public  hard  by." — "Never  mind!  he  was 
saucy  to  me  in  the  market  yesterday — I  was  angry  and — but 
anger  is  a  snare:  what  shall  I  gain  by  locking  him  up  just 
now?    Let  him  go." 

"Well,  sir,  your  will  is  law,"  said  Crawley  obsequiously 
but  sadly. 

"Now  to  business  of  more  importance." — "At  your  service, 
sir." 

But  the  business  of  more  importance  was  interrupted  by  a 
sudden  knock  at  the  outside  door  of  Mr.  Meadows'  study. 

"Well !"— "A  young  lady  to  see  you." 

"A  young  lady?"  inquired  Meadows  with  no  very  ami- 
able air.    "I  am  engaged.    Do  you  know  who  it  is?" 

"It  is  Farmer  Merton's  daughter,  David  says." 

"Miss  Merton!"  cried  Meadows  with  a  marvellous  change] 

350 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   AIEND 

of  manner.  "Show  her  up  directly.  Crawley,  run  into  the 
passage,  quick,  man,  and  wait  for  signals." 

He  bundled  Crawley  out,  shut  the  secret  door,  threw  open 
both  the  others,  and  welcomed  Susan  warmly  at  the  thresh- 
old. "Well,  this  is  good  of  you.  Miss  Merton,  to  come  and 
shine  in  upon  me  in  my  own  house." 

"I  have  brought  your  book  back,"  replied  Susan,  colouring 
a  little;  "that  was  my  errand — that  is,"  said  she,  "that  was 
partly  my  errand."  She  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  am  going 
to  Mr.  Levi" — Meadows'  countenance  fell, — "and  I  wouldn't 
go  to  him  without  coming  to  you,  because  what  I  have  to 
say  to  him  I  must  say  to  you  as  well.  Mr.  Meadows,  do 
let  me  persuade  you  out  of  this  bitter  feeling  against  the 
poor  old  man.  Oh,  I  know  you  will  say  he  is  worse  than 
you  are ;  so  he  is — a  little ;  but  then  consider  he  has  more 
excuse  than  you ;  he  has  never  been  taught  how 
wicked  it  is  not  to  forgive.  You  know  it — but  don't  prac- 
tise it." 

Meadows  looked  at  the  simple-minded  enthusiast,  and  his 
cold  eye  deepened  in  colour  as  it  dwelt  on  her,  and  his 
voice  dropped  into  the  low  and  modulated  tone  which  no 
other  human  creature  but  this  ever  heard  from  him. 
"Human  nature  is  very  revengeful.  Few  of  us  are  like  you. 
It  is  my  misfortune  that  I  have  not  oftener  a  lesson  from 
you ;  perhaps  you  might  charm  away  this  unchristian  spirit 
that  makes  me  unworthy  to  be  your — your  friend." 

"Oh,  no !  no !"  cried  Susan ;  "if  I  thought  so,  should  I 
be  here?" 

"Your  voice  and  your  face  do  make  me  at  peace  with  all 
the  world,  Susan — I  beg  your  pardon — Miss  Merton." 

"And  why  not  Susan  ?"  said  the  young  lady  kindly. 

"Well,  Susan  is  a  very  inviting  name." — "La !  Mr. 
Meadows,"  cried  Susan,  arching  her  brows,  "why,  it  is  a 
frightful  name — it  is  so  old-fashioned,  nobody  is  christened 
Susan  now-a-days." 

"It  is  a  name  for  everything  that  is  good  and  gentle  and 
lovely."  A  moment  more  and  passion  would  have  melted 
all  the  icy  barriers  prudence  and  craft  had  reared  round  this 
deep  heart.  His  voice  was  trembling,  his  cheek  flushed ;  but 
h*"  was  saved  by — an  enemy. 

'  351 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Susan !"  cried  a  threatening  voice  at  the  door,  and  there 
stood  William  Fielding  with  a  look  to  match. 

Rage  burned  in  Meadows'  heart.  He  said  brusquely, 
"Come  in,"  and  seizing  a  slip  of  paper,  he  wrote  five  words 
on  it,  and  taking  out  a  book,  flung  it  into  the  passage  to 
Crawley.  He  then  turned  towards  W.  Fielding,  who  by 
this  time  had  walked  up  to  Susan,  who  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  screen. 

"Was  told  you  had  gone  in  here,"  said  William  quietly, 
"so  I  came  after  you." — "Now  that  was  very  attentive  of 
you,"  replied  Susan  ironically.  "It  is  so  nice  to  have  a 
sensible  young  man  like  you  following  for  ever  at  one's  heels 
— like  a  dog."  A  world  of  quiet  scorn  embellished  this  little 
remark. 

William's  reply  was  happier  than  usual.  "The  sheep  find 
the  dog  often  in  their  way,  but  they  are  all  the  safer  for 
him." — "Well,  I'm  sure,"  cried  Susan,  her  scorn  giving  way 
to  anger. 

Mr.  Meadows  put  in :  "I  must  trouble  you  to  treat  Miss 
Merton  with  proper  respect  when  you  speak  to  her  in  my 
house." 

"Who  respects  her  more  than  I  ?"  retorted  William ;  "but 
you  see,  Mr.  Meadows,  sheep  are  no  match  for  wolves  when 
the  dog  is  away — so  the  dog  is  here." 

"I  see  the  dog  is  here  and  by  his  own  invitation ;  all  I 
say  is,  that  if  the  dog  is  to  stay  here  he  must  behave  like  a 
man." 

William  gasped  at  this  hit ;  he  didn't  trust  himself  to 
answer  Meadows ;  in  fact,  a  blow  of  his  fist  seemed  to  him 
the  only  sufficient  answer.  He  turned  to  Susan.  "Susan, 
do  you  remember  poor  George's  last  words  to  me,  with  a 
tear  in  his  eye  and  his  hand  in  mine?  Well,  I  keep  my 
promise  to  him — I  keep  my  eye  upon  such  as  I  think  capable 
of  undermining  my  brother.  This  man  is  a  schemer,  Susan, 
and  you  are  too  simple  to  fathom  him." 

The  look  of  surprise  crafty  Meadows  put  on  here,  and 
William  Fielding's  implied  compliment  to  his  own  superior 
sagacity,  struck  Susan  as  infinitely  ludicrous,  and  she  looked 
at  Meadows  and  laughed  like  a  peal  of  bells.  Of  course  he 
looked   at  her  and   laughed   with  her.     At  this  all   young 

352 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Fielding's  self-restraint  went  to  the  winds,  and  he  went  on 
— "But  sooner  than  that,  I'll  twist  as  good  a  man's  neck  as 
ever  schemed  in  Jack  Meadows'  shoes !" 

At  this  defiance  Meadows  wheeled  round  on  William  Field- 
ing and  confronted  him  with  his  stalwart  person  and  eyes 
glowing  with  gloomy  wrath.  Susan  screamed  with  terror 
at  William's  insulting  words  and  at  the  attitude  of  the  two 
men,  and  she  made  a  step  to  throw  herself  between  them  if 
necessary ;  but  before  words  could  end  in  blows  a  tap  at 
the  study  door  caused  a  diversion,  and  a  cringing  sort  of 
voice  said,  "May  I  come  in?" 

"Of  course  you  may,"  shouted  Meadows ;  "the  place  is 
public.  Anybody  walks  into  my  room  to-day,  friend  or 
foe.  Don't  ask  my  leave — come  in,  man,  whoever  you  are 
— Mr.  Crawley?  well,  I  didn't  expect  a  call  from  you  any 
more  than  from  this  one." 

"Now  don't  you  be  angry,  sir,  I  had  a  good  reason  for 
intruding  on  you  this  once.  Jackson !"  Jackson  stepped 
forward  and  touched  William  Fielding  on  the  shoulder. 
"You  must  come  along  with  me,"  said  he. — "What  for?" 
inquired  Fielding. 

"You  are  arrested  on  this  judgment,"  explained  Crawley, 
letting  the  document  peep  a  moment  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  William  threw  himself  into  an  attitude  of  defence. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  knock  the  officer  down  and  run  into 
another  county,  but  the  next  moment  he  saw  the  folly  and 
injustice  of  this,  and  another  sentiment  overpowered  the 
honest  simple  fellow — shame.  He  covered  his  face  with 
both  his  hands  and  groaned  aloud  with  the  sense  of  his  hu- 
miliation. 

"Oh,  my  poor  William !"  cried  Susan.  "Oh,  Mr.  Meadows, 
can  nothing  be  done?" 

"Why,  Miss  IMerton,"  said  Meadows,  looking  down,  "you 
can't  expect  me  to  do  anything  for  him.  If  it  was  his  brother 
now,  Lawyer  Crawley  shouldn't  ever  take  him  out  of  my 
house." 

Susan  flushed  all  over.  "That  I  am  sure  you  would,  Mr. 
Meadows,"  cried  she  (for  feeling  obscured  grammar). 
"Now  see,  dear  William,  how  your  temper  and  unworthy 
suspicions   alienate   our   friends ;  but   father   shan't  let   you 

''  353 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

lie  in  prison.  Mr.  Meadows,  v/ill  you  lend  me  a  sheet  of 
paper  ?" 

She  sat  down,  pen  in  hand,  in  generous  excitement.  While 
she  wrote,  Mr.  Meadows  addressed  Crawley — "And  now  a 
word  with  you,  Mr.  Crawley.  You  and  I  meet  on  business 
now  and  then,  but  we  are  not  on  visiting  terms  that  I  know 
of.  How  come  you  to  walk  into  my  house  with  a  constable 
at  your  back?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  did  it  for  the  best,"  said  Crawley  apologeti- 
cally. "Our  man  came  in  here,  and  the  street  door  was 
open,  and  I  said,  'He  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Meadows,  perhaps 
it  would  be  more  delicate  to  all  parties  to  take  him  indoors 
than  in  the  open  street.'  " 

"Oh,  yes !"  cried  William,  "it  is  bitter  enough  as  it  is,  but 
that  would  have  been  worse — thank  you  for  arresting  me 
here — and  now  take  me  away  and  let  me  hide  from  all  the 
world." 

"Fools !"  said  a  firm  voice  behind  the  screen. 

"Fools."  At  this  word  and  a  new  voice  Susan  started 
up  from  the  table,  and  William  turned  his  face  from  the 
wall.  Meadows  did  more.  "Another !"  cried  he  in  utter 
amazement ;  "why,  my  house  is  an  inn.     Ah !" 

Whilst  speaking  he  had  run  round  the  screen  and  come 
plump  upon  Isaac  Levi  seated  in  a  chair  and  looking  up  in 
his  face  with  stem  composure.  His  exclamation  brought 
the  others  round  after  him,  and  a  group  of  excited  faces  en- 
circled this  old  man  seated  sternly  composed. 

"Fools !"  repeated  he,  "these  tricks  were  stale  before  Eng- 
land was  a  nation.     Which  of  you  two  has  the  judgment?" 

"I,  sir,"  said  Crawley  at  a  look  from  Meadows. 

"The  amount?" — "A  hundred  and  six  thirteen  four." 

"Here  is  the  money.     Give  me  the  document." 

"Here,  sir."  Levi  read  it.  "This  action  was  taken  on 
a  bill  of  exchange.    I  must  have  that  too." 

"Here  it  is,  sir.  Would  you  like  an  acknowledgment,  Mr. 
Levi?"  said  Crawley  obsequiously. — "No!  foolish  man.  Are 
not  these  sufficient  vouchers?" — "You  are  free,  sir,"  said 
Crawley  to  William  with  an  air  of  cheerful  congratula- 
tion. 

"Am  I?     Then  I  advise  you  to  get  out  of  my  way,  for 

354 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

my  fingers  do   itch  to   fling  you  head   foremost  down   the 
stairs." 

On  this  hint  out  wriggled  Mr.  Crawley  with  a  semicircle 
of  bows  to  the  company.  Constable  touched  his  front-lock 
and  went  straight  away  as  if  he  was  going  through  the 
opposite  wall  of  the  house.  Meadows  pointed  after  him 
with  his  finger  and  said  to  Levi,  "You  see  the  road;  get  out 
of  my  house." 

The  old  man  never  moved  from  his  chair,  to  which  he  had 
returned  after  paying  William's  debts.  "It  is  not  your 
house,"  said  he  coolly. 

The  other  stared.  "No  matter,"  replied  Meadows  sharp- 
ly, "it  is  mine  till  my  mortgage  is  paid  ofif." 

"I  am  here  to  pay  it."— "Ah !" 

"Principal  and  interest  calculated  up  to  twelve  o'clock 
this  eleventh  day  of  March.  It  wants  five  minutes  to  twelve. 
I  offer  you  principal  and  interest — eight  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  pounds  fourteen  shillings  and  fivepence  three  farthings — ■ 
before  these  witnesses,  and  demand  the  title-deeds." 

Meadows  hung  his  head,  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  waste 
words  in  mere  scolding.  He  took  the  blow  with  forced 
calmness,  as  who  should  say,  "This  is  your  turn — the  next  is 
mine." 

"Miss  Merton,"  said  he  almost  in  a  whisper,  "I  never  had 
the  honour  to  receive  you  here  before  and  I  never  shall 
again.  How  long  do  you  give  me  to  move  my  things?" — 
"Can  you  not  guess?"  inquired  the  other  with  a  shade  of 
curiosity. 

"Why,  of  course  you  will  put  me  to  all  the  inconvenience 
you  can.  Come  now,  am  I  to  move  all  my  furniture  and 
efi^ects  out  of  this  great  house  in  twenty-four  hours?" 

"I  give  you  more  than  that." 

"How  kind !  What,  you  give  me  a  week  perhaps  ?"  asked 
Meadows  incredulously. — "More  than  that,  you  fool !  Don't 
you  see  that  it  is  on  next  Ladyday  you  will  be  turned  into 
the  street  ?  Aha !  woman-worshipper,  on  Ladyday !  A  tooth 
for  a  tooth !"  And  the  old  man  ground  his  teeth,  which  were 
white  as  ivory,  and  his  fist  clenched  itself,  while  his  eye 
glittered,  and  he  swelled  out  from  the  chair,  and  literally 
bristled  with  hate — "A  tooth  for  a  tooth !" 

355 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Oh,  Mr.  Levi,"  said  Susan  sorrowfully,  "how  soon  you 
have  forgotten  my  last  lesson !" 

Meadows  for  a  moment  felt  a  chill  of  fear  at  the  punc- 
tiliousness of  revenge  in  this  Oriental  whom  he  had  made 
his  enemy.  To  this  succeeded  the  old  hate  multiplied  by  ten ; 
but  he  made  a  monstrous  efifort  and  drove  it  from  his  face 
down  into  the  recesses  of  his  heart.  "Well,"  said  he,  "may 
you  enjoy  this  house  as  I  have  done  this  last  twelve- 
month !" 

"That  does  you  credit,  good  Mr.  Meadows,"  cried  simple 
Susan,  missing  his  meaning.  Meadows  continued  in  the 
same  tone,  "And  I  must  make  shift  with  the  one  you 
vacate  on  Ladydav." — "Solomon,  teach  me  to  outwit  this 
dog." 

"Come,  Mr.  Levi,  I  have  visited  Mr.  Meadows,  and  now 
I  am  going  to  your  house." — "You  shall  be  welcome,  kindly 
welcome,"  said  the  old  man  with  large  and  flowing  courtesy. 

"And  will  you  show  me,"  said  Susan  very  tenderly,  "where 
Leah  used  to  sit?"— "Ah!" 

"And  where  Rachel  and  Sarah  loved  to  play?" 

"Ah  me !  ah  me !  ah  me !  Yes  !  I  could  not  show  another 
these  holy  places,  but  I  will  show  you." 

"And  will  you  forget  awhile  this  unhappy  quarrel  and 
listen  to  my  words?" — 

"Surely  I  shall  listen  to  you ;  for  even  now  your  voice  is 
to  my  ear  like  the  wind  sighing  among  the  cedars  of  Leba- 
non, and  the  wave  that  plays  at  night  upon  the  sands  of 
Galilee." 

"  'Tis  but  the  frail  voice  of  a  foolish  woman,  who  loves  and 
respects  you,  and  yet,"  said  Susan,  her  colour  mantling  with 
enthusiasm,  "with  it  I  can  speak  you  words  more  beautiful 
than  Lebanon's  cedars  or  Galilee's  shore.  Ay,  old  man, 
words  that  made  the  stars  brighter  and  the  sons  of  the 
morning  rejoice.  I  will  not  tell  you  whence  I  had  them,  but 
you  shall  say  surely  they  never  came  from  earth — selfish  cruel 
revengeful  earth — these  words  that  drop  on  our  hot  passions 
like  the  dew,  and  speak  of  trespasses  forgiven,  and  peace 
and  good-will  among  men." 

Oh.  magic  of  a  lovely  voice  speaking  the  truths  of  heaven! 
How  still  the  room  was  as  these  goodly  words  rang  in  it 

356 


1 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD 

from  a  pure  heart.  Three  men  there  had  all  been  raging 
with  anger  and  hate ;  now  a  calming  music  fell  like  oil  upon 
these  human  waves  and  stilled  them. 

The  men  dropped  their  heads,  and  held  their  breath  to 
make  sure  the  balmy  sounds  had  ceased ;  then  Levi  an- 
swered in  a  tone  gentle,  firm,  and  low  (very  different  from 
his  last).  "Susanna,  bitterness  fades  from  my  heart  as  you 
speak,  but  experience  remains ;"  he  turned  to  Meadows, 
"When  I  wander  forth  at  Ladyday  she  shall  still  be  watched 
over  though  I  be  far  away.  My  eye  shall  be  here,  and  my 
hand  shall  still  be  so  over  you  all,"  and  raising  his  thin  hand, 
he  held  it  high  up,  the  nails  pointing  downwards :  he  looked 
just  like  a  hawk  hovering  over  its  prey.  'T  will  say  no  bit- 
terer words  than  that  to-day;"  and  in  fact  he  delivered  it 
without  apparent  heat  or  malice. 

"Come  then  with  me,  Susanna — a  goodly  name ;  it  comes  to 
you  from  the  despised  people :  come  like  peace  to  my  dwell- 
ing, Susanna ;  you  know  not  this  world's  wiles  as  I  do,  but 
you  can  teach  me  the  higher  wisdom  that  controls  the  folly 
of  passion  and  purifies  the  soul." 

The  pair  were  gone,  and  William  and  Meadows  were  left 
alone.  The  latter  looked  sadly  and  gloomily  at  the  door  by 
which  Susan  had  gone  out.  He  was  in  a  sort  of  torpor.  He 
was  not  conscious  of  William's  presence. 

Now  the  said  William  had  a  misgiving ;  in  the  country  a 
man's  roof  is  sacred ;  he  had  affronted  Meadows  under  his 
own  roof,  and  then  Mr.  Levi  had  come  and  affronted  him 
there  too.  William  began  to  doubt  whether  this  was  not  a 
little  hard ;  moreover  he  thought  he  had  seen  Meadows  brush 
his  eye  hastily  with  the  back  of  his  hand  as  Susan  retired. 
He  came  towards  Meadows  with  his  old  sulky,  honest,  hang- 
the-head  manner,  and  said,  "Mr.  Meadows,  seems  to  me  we 
have  been  a  little  hard  upon  you  in  your  own  house,  and  I 
am  not  quite  easy  about  my  share  on't." 

Meadows  shrugged  his  shoulders  imperceptibly. 

"Well,  sir,  I  am  not  the  Almighty  to  read  folk's  hearts, 
least  of  all  such  a  one  as  yours,  but  if  I  have  done  you  wrong, 
I  ask  your  pardon.  Come,  sir,  if  you  don't  mean  to  under- 
mine my  brother  with  the  girl  you  can  give  me  your  hand, 
and  I  can  give  you  mine — and  there  'tis." 

357 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Meadows  wished  this  young  man  away,  and  seeing  that 
the  best  way  to  get  rid  of  him  was  to  give  him  his  hand,  he 
turned  round,  and,  scarcely  looking  towards  him,  gave  him 
his  hand.  William  shook  it  and  went  away  with  something 
that  sounded  like  a  sigh.  Meadows  saw  him  out,  and  locked 
the  door  impatiently;  then  he  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and 
laid  his  beating  temples  on  the  cold  table ;  then  he  started  up 
and  walked  wildly  to  and  fro  the  room.  The  man  was  torn 
this  way  and  that  with  rage,  love,  and  remorse. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  thus  ran  his  thoughts.  "That  angel  is 
my  only  refuge,  and  yet  to  win  her  I  shall  have  to  walk 
through  dirt  and  shame  and  every  sin  that  is.  I  see  crimes 
ahead — such  a  heap  of  crimes,  my  flesh  creeps  at  the  number 
of  them.  Why  not  be  like  her  ?  why  not  be  the  greatest  saint 
that  ever  lived,  instead  of  one  more  villain  added  to  so  many? 
Let  me  tear  this  terrible  love  out  of  my  heart  and  die.  Oh, 
if  some  one  would  but  take  me  by  the  scurf  of  the  neck  and 
drag  me  to  some  other  country  a  million  miles  away,  where 
I  might  never  see  my  tempter  again  till  this  madness  is  out 
of  me !  Susan,  you  are  an  angel,  but  you  will  plunge  me  to 
hell." 

Now  it  happened  while  he  was  thus  raving  and  suffering 
the  preliminary  pangs  of  wrong-doing  that  his  old  servant 
knocked  at  the  outside  of  the  door,  and  thrust  a  letter  through 
the  trap;  the  letter  was  from  a  country  gentleman,  one  Mr. 
Chester,  for  whom  he  had  done  business.  Mr.  Chester  wrote 
from  Lancashire.  He  informed  Meadows  he  had  succeeded 
to  a  very  large  property  in  that  county — it  had  been  shock- 
ingly mismanaged  by  his  predecessor;  he  wanted  a  capable 
man's  advice,  and  moreover  all  the  estates  thereabouts  were 
compelled  to  be  surveyed  and  valued  this  year,  which  he 
deplored,  but  since  so  it  was,  he  would  be  surveyed  and 
valued  by  none  but  John  Meadows. 

"Come  by  return  of  post,"  added  this  hasty  squire,  "and 
I'll  introduce  you  to  half  the  landed  proprietors  in  this 
county." 

Meadows  read  this,  and,  seizing  a  pen,  wrote  thus. — 

"Dear  Sir, — Yours  received  this  day  at  i  p.m.^  and  will 
start  for  vour  house  at  6  p.m." 

358 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

He  threw  himself  on  his  horse,  and  rode  to  his  mother's 
house.    "Mother,  I  am  turned  out  of  my  house." 

"Why,  John,  you  don't  say  so." 

"I  must  go  into  the  new  house  I  have  built  outside  the 
town." 

"What,  the  one  you  thought  to  let  to  Mr.  James?" 

"The  same.  I  have  got  only  a  fortnight  to  move  all  my 
things.  Will  you  do  me  a  kindness  now  ?  will  you  see  them 
put  safe  into  the  new  house?" 

"Me,  John !  why,  I  should  be  afraid  something  would  go 
wrong." 

"Well,  it  isn't  fair  of  me  to  put  this  trouble  on  you  at  your 
age ;  but  read  this  letter — there  is  fifteen  hundred  pounds 
waiting  for  me  in  the  North."  • 

The  old  woman  put  on  her  spectacles,  and  read  the  letter 
slowly.  "Go,  John!  go  by  all  means!  I  will  see  all  your 
things  moved  into  the  new  house — ^don't  let  them  be  a  hin- 
drance ;  you  go.  Your  old  mother  will  take  care  your  things 
are  not  hurt  moving,  nor  you  wronged  in  the  way  of  ex- 
pense." 

"Thank  you,  mother !  thank  you !  they  say  there  is  no  friend 
like  a  mother,  and  I  dare  say  they  are  not  far  wrong." 

"No  such  friend  but  God — none  such  but  God !"  said  the 
old  woman  with  great  emphasis,  and  looking  Meadows  in  the 
face  with  searching  eye. 

"Well,  then,  here  are  the  keys  of  the  new  house,  and  here 
are  my  keys.  I  am  off  to-night,  so  good-bye,  mother.  God 
bless  you !" 

He  had  just  turned  to  go,  when  by  an  unusual  impulse 
he  turned,  took  the  old  woman  in  his  hands,  almost  lifted 
her  off  the  ground,  for  she  weighed  light,  and  gave  her  a 
hasty  kiss  on  the  cheek ;  then  he  set  her  down  and  strode  out 
of  the  house  about  his  business. 

When  curious  Hannah  ran  in  the  next  moment,  she  found 
the  old  lady  in  silent  agitation.  "Oh,  dear!  What  is  the 
matter,  Dame  Meadows?" — "Nothing  at  all,  silly  girl." 

"Nothing!  and  look  at  you  all  of  a  tremble." — "He  took 
me  up  all  in  a  moment  and  kissed  me.  I  dare  say  it  is  five- 
and-twenty  year  since  he  kissed  me  last.  He  was  a  curly- 
headed  lad  then." 

359 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

So  this  had  set  the  poor  old  thing  trembHng.  She  soon 
recovered  her  firmness,  and  that  very  evening  Hannah  and 
she  slept  in  John's  house,  and  the  next  day  set  to  and  began 
to  move  his  furniture  and  prepare  his  new  house  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PETER  CRAWLEY  received  a  regular  allowance  during 
his  chief's  absence,  and  remained  in  constant  communi- 
cation with  him,  and  was  as  heretofore  his  money-bag,  his 
tool,  his  invisible  hand.  But  if  anybody  had  had  a  microscope 
and  lots  of  time,  they  might  have  discovered  a  gloomy  hue 
spreading  itself  over  Crawley's  soul.  A  pleasant  illusion  had 
been  rudely  shaken. 

All  men  have  something  they  admire. 

Crawley  admired  cunning.  It  is  not  a  sublime  quality, 
but  Crawley  thought  it  was,  and  revered  it  with  pious  affec- 
tionate awe.  He  had  always  thought  Mr.  Meadows  No.  i  in 
cunning,  but  now  came  a  doleful  suspicion  that  he  was  No.  2. 

Losing  a  portion  of  his  veneration  for  the  chief  he  had  seen 
out-manoeuvred,  he  took  the  liberty  of  getting  drunk  contrary 
to  his  severe  command,  and  being  drunk  and  maudlin,  he  un- 
bosomed himself  on  this  head  to  a  low  woman  who  was  his 
confidante  whenever  drink  loosened  his  tongue. 

"I'm  out  spirits,  Sal.  I'm  tebbly  out  spirits.  Where  shall 
we  all  go  to?  I  didn't  think  there  was  great  a  man  on  earth  z 
Mizza  Meadows.  But  the  worlz  wide.  Mizza  Levi  z  greada 
man — a  mudge  greada  man  (hie).  He  was  down  upon  us 
like  a  amma  (hie).  His  Jew's  eye  went  through  our  lill 
sgeme  like  a  gimlet.  'Fools!'  says  he — that's  me  and  Mead- 
ows— 'these  dodges  were  used  up  in  our  family  before  Lun- 
nun  was  built.  Fools !'  Mizza  Levi  despises  me  and 
Meadows ;  and  I  respect  him  accordingly,  I'm  tebbly  out 
spirits   (hie)." 


360 


IT  13   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

FARMER  MERTON  received  a  line  from  Meadows,  tell- 
ing him  he  had  gone  into  Lancashire  on  important  busi- 
ness, and  did  not  expect  to  be  back  for  three  months,  except 
perhaps  for  a  day  at  a  time.  Merton  handed  the  letter  to 
Susan. 

"We  shall  miss  him,"  was  her  remark. 

"That  we  shall ;  he  is  capital  company." 

"And  a  worthy  man  into  the  bargain,"  said  Susan  warmly, 
"spite  of  what  little-minded  folk  say  and  think.  What  do  you 
think  that  Will  Fielding  did  only  yesterday?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Well,  he  followed  me  into — there,  it  is  not  worth  while 
having  an  open  quarrel,  but  I  shall  hate  the  sight  of  his  very 
face.  I  can't  think  how  such  a  fool  can  be  George's  brother. 
No  wonder  George  and  he  could  not  agree.  Poor  Mr. 
Meadows!  to  be  affronted  in  his  own  house  just  for  treating 
me  with  respect  and  civility.  So  that  is  a  crime  now !" — 
"What  are  you  saying,  girl  ?  That  young  pauper  affront  my 
friend  Meadows,  the  warmest  man  for  fifty  miles  round !  If 
he  has,  he  shall  never  come  on  my  premises  again.  You  may 
take  your  oath  of  that." 

Susan  looked  aghast.  This  was  more  than  she  had  bar- 
gained for.  She  was  the  last  in  the  world  to  set  two  people 
by  the  ears. 

"Now  don't  you  be  so  peppery,  father,"  said  she :  "There 
is  nothing  to  make  a  quarrel  about." — "Yes,  there  is  though, 
if  that  ignorant  beggar  insulted  my  friend." 

"No!  no!  no!" 

"Why,  what  did  you  say?" 

"I  say — that  here  is  Mr.  Clinton  coming  to  the  door." 

"Let  him  in,  girl,  let  him  in.  And  you  needn't  stay.  We 
are  going  to  talk  business.'' 


361 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MRS.  MEADOWS  preparing  her  son's  new  home  and 
defeating  the  little  cheating  tradesmen  and  workmen 
that  fasten  like  leeches  on  such  as  carry  their  furniture  to  a 
new  house ;  Hannah  working  round  and  round  her  in  a  state 
of  glorious  excitement ;  Crawley  smelling  of  Bett's  British 
brandy,  and  slightly  regretting  he  was  not  No.  I's  tool 
(Levi's)  instead  of  No.  2's,  as  he  now  bitteily  called  him, 
and  writing  obsequious  letters  to,  and  doing  the  dirty  work 
of,  the  said  No.  2 ;  old  Merton  speculating,  sometimes  losing, 
sometimes  winning;  Meadows  gone  to  Lancashire  with  a 
fixed  idea  that  Susan  would  be  his  ruin  if  he  could  not  cure 
himself  of  his  love  for  her ;  Susan  rather  regretting  his  ab- 
sence, and  wishing  for  his  return,  that  she  might  show  him 
how  little  she  sympathised  with  Will  Fielding's  suspicions, 
injustice,  and  brutality. 

Leaving  all  this  to  work,  our  story  follows  an  honest  fellow 
to  the  other  side  of  the  globe. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

GEORGE  FIELDING  found  Farmer  Dodd  waiting  to 
drive  him  to  the  town  where  he  was  to  meet  Mr.  Win- 
chester. The  farmer's  wife  would  press  a  glass  of  wine  up- 
on George.  She  was  an  old  playmate  of  his,  and  the  tear  was 
in  her  eye  as  she  shook  his  hand  and  bade  Heaven  bless  him 
and  send  him  safe  back  to  'The  Grove." 

"A-taking  of  his  hand  and  him  going  across  sea!  Can't 
ye  do  no  better  nor  that,"  cried  the  stout  farmer;  'T'm  not 
a  looking,  dame." 

So  then  Mrs.  Dodd  put  her  hands  on  George's  shoulders, 
and  kissed  him  rusticwise  on  both  cheeks — and  he  felt  a  tear 
on  his  cheek,  and  stammered  "Good-bye,  Jane!  you  and  I 
were  always  good  neighbours,  but  now  we  shan't  be  neigh- 
bours for  a  while.  Ned,  drive  me  away,  please,  and  let  me 
shut  my  eyes  and  forget  that  ever  I  was  born." 

362 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  farmer  made  a  signal  of  intelligence  to  his  wife,  and 
drove  him  hastily  away. 

They  went  along  in  silence  for  about  two  miles.  Then 
the  farmer  suddenly  stopped.  George  looked  up,  the  other 
looked  down.  "Allen's  Corner,  George.  You  know  'The 
Grove'  is  in  sight  from  here,  and  after  this  we  shan't  see  it 
again  on  account  of  this  here  wood,  you  know." 

"Thank,  ye,  Ned !  Yes,  one  more  look — the  afternoon  sun 
lies  upon  it.  Oh,  how  different  it  do  seem  to  my  eyes  now  by 
what  it  used  when  I  rode  by  from  market ;  but  then  I  was 
going  to  it,  now  I'm  going  far,  far  from  it.  Never  heed  me, 
Ned — I  shall  be  better  in  a  moment.  Heaven  forgive  me  for 
thinking  so  little  of  the  village  folk  as  I  have  done."  Then 
he  suddenly  threw  up  his  hands.  "God  bless  the  place  and 
bless  the  folk,"  he  cried  very  loud ;  "God  bless  them  all,  from 
the  oldest  man  in  it,  and  that  is  grandfather,  down  to  Isaac 
King's  little  girl  that  was  bom  yesternight !  and  may  none 
of  them  ever  come  to  this  corner,  and  their  faces  turned  to- 
wards the  sea." 

"Doan't  ye,  George ;  doan't  ye !  doan't  ye !  doan't  ye !"  cried 
Edward  Dodd  in  great  agitation. 

"Let  the  mare  go  on,  Ned ;  she  is  fretting  through  her 
skin." 

"I'll  fret  her,"  roared  the  farmer,  lifting  his  whip  exactly 
as  if  it  was  a  sword  and  a  cut  to  be  made  at  a  dragoon's 
helmet.     "I'll  cut  her  liver  out." 

"No,  ye  shan't,"  said  George.  "Poor  thing!  she  is  think- 
ing of  her  corn  at  the  Queen's  Head  in  Newborough :  she 
isn't  going  across  the  sea — let  her  go,  I've  taken  my  last  look 
and  said  my  last  word  ;"  and  he  covered  up  his  face. 

Farmer  Dodd  drove  on  in  silence,  except  that  every  now 
and  then  he  gave  an  audible  snivel,  and  whenever  this  oc- 
curred he  always  accommodated  the  mare  with  a  smart  cut 
— reasonable ! 

At  Newborough  they  found  Mr.  Winchester.  He  drove 
George  to  the  rail,  and  that  night  they  slept  on  board  the 
Phanix  emigrant  ship.  Here  they  found  three  hundred  men 
and  women  in  a  ship  where  there  was  room  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty,  accommodation  for  eighty. 

Next  morning,  "Farmer,"  said  Mr.  Winchester  gaily,  "we 

363 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

have  four  hours  before  we  sail ;  some  of  these  poor  people 
will  suffer  great  hardships  between  this  and  Sydney;  sup- 
pose you  and  I  go  and  buy  a  lot  of  blankets,  brawn,  needles, 
canvas,  greatcoats,  felt,  American  beef,  solidified  milk.  Mac- 
intoshes, high-lows,  and  thimbles.  That  will  rouse  us  up  a 
little." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  kindly." 

Out  they  went  into  the  Ratcliffe  Highway,  and  chaffered 
with  some  of  the  greatest  rascals  in  trade.  The  difference 
between  what  they  asked  and  what  they  took  made  George 
stare.  Their  little  cabin  was  crowded  with  goods,  only  just 
room  left  for  the  aristocrat,  the  farmer,  and  Carlo.  And 
now  the  hour  came.  Poor  George  was  roused  from  his 
lethargy  by  the  noise  and  bustle ;  and  oh,  the  creaking  of 
cables  sickened  his  heart.  Then  the  steamer  came  up  and 
took  them  in  tow,  and  these  our  countrymen  and  women  were 
pulled  away  from  their  native  land  too  little  and  too  full  to 
hold  us  all.  It  was  a  sad  sight,  saddest  to  those  whose  own 
flesh  and  blood  was  on  the  shore  and  saw  the  steamer  pull 
them  away ;  bitterest  to  those  who  had  no  friend  to  watch 
them  go. 

How  they  clung  to  England !  they  stretched  out  their 
hands  to  her,  and  when  they  could  hold  to  her  no  other  way, 
they  waved  their  hats  and  their  handkerchiefs  to  their  coun- 
trymen, who  waved  to  them  from  shore — and  so  they  spun 
out  a  little  longer  the  slender  chain  that  visibly  bound  them 
to  her.  And  at  this  moment  even  the  iron-hearted  and  the 
reckless  were  soft  and  sad.  Our  hearts'  roots  lie  in  the  soil 
we  have  grown  on. 

No  wonder  then  George  Fielding  leaned  over  the  ship- 
side  benumbed  with  sorrow,  and  counted  each  foot  of  water 
as  it  glided  by,  and  thought,  "Now  I  am  so  much  farther 
from  Susan." 

For  a  wonder  he  was  not  sea-sick,  but  his  appetite  was  gone 
from  a  nobler  cause,  he  could  hardly  be  persuaded  to  eat  at  all 
for  many  days. 

The  steamer  cast  off  at  Gravesend,  and  the  captain  made 
sail  and  beat  down  the  Channel.  Off  the  Scilly  Isles  a 
north-easterly  breeze,  and  the  Phxnix  crowded  all  her  can- 
vas ;  when  top-sails,  royals,  sky-scrapers,  and  all  were  draw- 

364 


A 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ing,  the  men  rigged  out  booms  alow  and  aloft,  and  by  means 
of  them  set  studding-sails  out  several  yards  clear  of  the  hull 
on  either  side ;  so  on  she  ploughed,  her  canvas  spread  out 
like  an  enormous  fan  or  a  huge  albatross  all  wings.  A 
goodly,  gallant  show ;  but  under  all  this  vast  and  swelling 
plumage  an  exile's  heart. 

Of  all  that  smarted,  ached,  and  throbbed  beneath  that 
swelling  plumage,  few  suffered  more  than  poor  George.  It 
was  his  first  great  sorrow,  and  all  so  new  and  strange. 

This  ship  touched  at  Madeira,  and  then  flew  southward 
with  the  favouring  gale.  Many,  many  leagues  she  sailed, 
and  still  George  hung  over  the  bulwarks  and  sadly  watched 
the  waves.  This  simple-minded,  honest  fellow  was  not  a 
girl.  If  they  had  offered  to  pirt  the  ship  about  and  take 
him  back,  he  would  not  have  consented;  but  yet  to  go  on 
almost  broke  his  heart.  He  was  steel  and  butter.  His  friend, 
the  Honourable  Frank  Winchester,  was  or  seemed  all  steel. 
He  was  one  of  those  sanguine  spirits  that  don't  admit  into 
their  minds  the  notion  of  ultimate  failure.  He  was  support- 
ed, too,  by  a  natural  and  indomitable  gaiety.  Whatever 
most  men  grumble  or  whine  at  he  took  as  practical  jokes 
played  by  Fortune,  partly  to  try  his  good-humour,  but  more 
to  amuse  him. 

The  poorer  passengers  suffered  much  discomfort,  and  the 
blankets,  &c.,  stored  in  Winchester's  cabin,  often  warmed 
these  two  honest  hearts,  as  with  pitying  hands  they  wrapped 
them  round  some  shivering  fellow-creature. 

Off  Cape  Verd  a  heavy  gale  came  on  :  it  lasted  thirty-six 
hours,  and  the  distress  and  suffering  of  the  over-crowded 
passengers  were  terrible.  An  unpaternal  Government  had 
allowed  a  ship  to  undertake  a  voyage  of  twelve  thousand 
miles  with  a  short  crew,  short  provisions,  and  just  twice  as 
many  passengers  as  could  be  protected  from  the  weather. 

Driven  from  the  deck  by  the  piercing  wind  and  the  deluges 
of  water  that  came  on  board,  and  crowded  into  the  narrow- 
est compass,  many  of  these  unfortunates  almost  died  of  sick- 
ness and  polluted  air ;  and  when  in  despair  they  rushed  back 
upon  deck,  horrors  and  suffering  met  them  in  another  shape. 
In  vain  they  huddled  together  for  a  little  warmth  and  tried 
to  shield   themselves   with  blankets   stretched  to   windward. 

365 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  bitter  blast  cut  like  a  razor  through  their  threadbare 
defences,  and  the  water  rushed  in  torrents  along  the  deck 
and  crept  cold  as  ice  up  their  bodies  as  they  sat  huddled  or 
lay  sick  and  despairing  on  the  hard  and  tossing  wood ;  and 
whenever  a  heavier  sea  than  usual  struck  the  ship,  a  de- 
spairing scream  burst  from  the  women,  and  the  good  ship 
groaned  and  shivered  and  seemed  to  share  their  fears,  and 
the  blast  yelled  into  their  souls — "I  am  mighty  as  fate — 
as  fate !  and  pitiless  !  pitiless  !  pitiless  !  pitiless  !  pitiless !" 

Oh,  then  how  they  longed  for  a  mud  cabin,  or  a  hole 
picked  with  a  pickaxe  in  some  ancient  city  wall,  or  a  cow- 
house, or  a  cartshed,  in  their  native  land. 

But  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good.  This  storm 
raised  George  Fielding's  better  part  of  man.  Integer  znta 
scelerisque  pnriis  was  not  very  much  afraid  to  die.  Once 
when  the  Phoenix  gave  a  weather  roll  that  wetted  the  fore- 
sail to  the  yard-arm,  he  said,  "My  poor  Susan !"  with  a  pity- 
ing accent,  not  a  quavering  one.  But  most  of  the  time  he 
was  busy  crawling  on  all-fours  from  one  sufferer  to  an- 
other with  a  drop  of  brandy  in  a  phial.  The  wind  emptied 
a  glass  of  the  very  moisture,  let  alone  the  liquid,  in  a  mo- 
ment. So  George  would  put  his  bottle  to  some  poor  crea- 
ture's lips,  and  if  it  was  a  man,  he  would  tell  him  in  his 
simple  way  who  was  stronger  than  the  wind  or  the  sea,  and 
that  the  ship  could  not  go  down  without  His  will.  To  the 
women  he  whispered  that  he  had  just  had  a  word  with  the 
captain,  and  he  said  it  was  Only  a  gale,  not  a  tempest  as  the 
passengers  fancied,  and  there  was  no  danger,  none  whatever. 

The  gale  blew  itself  out,  and  then  for  an  hour  or  two  the 
ship  rolled  frightfully ;  but  at  last  the  angry  sea  went  down, 
the  decks  were  mopped,  the  Phoenix  shook  her  wet  feathers 
and  spread  her  wings  again  and  glided  on  her  way. 

George  felt  a  little  better ;  the  storm  shook  him  and 
roused  him  and  did  him  good.  And  it  was  a  coincidence  in 
the  history  of  these  two  lovers,  that  just  as  Susan  under 
Mr.  Eden's  advice  was  applying  the  healing  ointment  of 
charitable  employment  to  her  wound,  George  too  was  find- 
ing a  little  comfort  and  life  from  the  little  bit  of  good  he 
and  his  friend  did  to  the  poor  population  in  his  wooden 
hamlet. 

366 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

After  a  voyage  of  four  months,  one  evening  the  captain 
shortened  sail,  though  the  breeze  was  fair  and  the  night 
clear.  Upon  being  asked  the  reason  of  this  strange  order, 
he  said  knowingly,  'Tf  you  get  up  with  the  sun  perhaps  you 
will  see  the  reason." 

Curiosity  being  excited,  one  or  two  did  rise  before  the  sun. 
Just  as  he  emerged  from  the  sea  a  young  seaman  called 
Paterson,  who  was  in  the  foretop,  hailed  the  deck. 

"What  is  it  ?"  roared  the  mate. 

"Land  on  the  weather-bow,"  sung  out  the  seaman  in  re- 

Land!  In  one  moment  the  word  ran  like  electric  fire 
through  all  the  veins  of  the  Phoenix;  the  upper  deck  was 
crowded  in  a  minute,  but  all  were  disappointed.  No  one  saw 
land  but  Mr.  Paterson,  whose  elevation  and  keen  sight  gave 
him  an  advantage.  But  a  heavenly  smell  as  of  a  region  of 
cowslips  came  and  perfumed  the  air  and  rejoiced  all  the 
hearts :  at  six  o'clock  a  something  like  a  narrow  cloud  broke 
the  watery  horizon  on  the  weather-bow.  All  sail  was  made, 
and  at  noon  the  coast  of  Australia  glittered  like  a  diamond 
under  their  lee. 

Then  the  three  hundred  prisoners  fell  into  a  wild  excite- 
ment— some  became  irritable,  others  absurdly  affectionate  to 
people  they  did  not  care  a  button  for.  The  captain  himself 
was  not  free  from  the  intoxication ;  he  walked  the  deck  in 
jerks  instead  of  his  usual  roll,  and  clapped  on  sail  as  if  he 
would  fly  on  shore. 

At  half-past  one  they  glided  otit  of  the  open  sea  into  the 
Port  Jackson  River.  They  were  now  in  a  harbour  fifteen 
miles  long,  landlocked  on  both  sides,  and  not  a  shoal  or  a 
rock  in  it.  This  wonderful  haven,  in  which  all  the  navies 
that  float,  or  ever  will  float,  might  manoeuvre  all  day  and 
ride  an  anchor  all  night  without  jostling,  was  the  sea-avenue 
by  which  they  approached  a  land  of  wonders. 

It  was  the  2nd  of  December.  The  sky  was  purple  and 
the  sun  blazed  in  its  centre.  The  land  glittered  like  a  thou- 
sand emeralds  beneath  his  glowing  smile,  and  the  waves 
seemed  to  drink  his  glory  and  melt  it  into  their  tints,  so  rich 
were  the  flakes  of  burning  gold  that  shone  in  the  heart  of 
their  transparent  lovely  blue. 

367 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


1 


Oh,  what  a  heavenly  land!  and  after  four  months'  prison 
at  sea ! 

Our  humble  hero's  heart  beat  high  with  hope.  Surely  in 
so  glorious  a  place  as  this  he  could  make  a  thousand  pounds 
and  then  dart  back  with  it  to  Susan.  Long  before  the  ship 
came  to  an  anchor  George  got  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  by  a 
natural  impulse  wrote  to  Susan  a  letter,  telling  her  all  the 
misery  the  Phoenix  and  her  passengers  had  come  through 
between  London  Bridge  and  Sydney  Cove,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  written  it  he  tore  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  water.  "It 
would  have  vexed  her  to  hear  what  I  have  gone  through. 
Time  enough  to  tell  her  that  when  I  am  home  again  sitting 
by  the  fire  with  her  hand  in  mine." 

So  then  he  tried  again,  and  wrote  a  cheerful  letter,  and 
concealed  all  his  troubles  except  his  sorrow  at  being  obliged 
to  go  so  far  from  her  even  for  a  time.  "But  it  is  only  for 
a  time,  Susan,  dear.  And,  Susan  dear,  I've  got  a  good  friend 
here,  and  one  that  can  feel  for  us,  for  he  is  here  on  the 
same  errand  as  I  am.  I  am  to  bide  with  him  six  months  and 
help  him  the  best  I  can,  and  so  I  shall  learn  how  matters 
are  managed  here ;  and  after  that  I  am  to  set  up  on  my  own 
account ;  and,  Susan  dear,  I  do  think,  by  all  I  can  see,  there 
is  money  to  be  made  here.  Heaven  knows  my  heart  was 
never  much  set  on  gain,  but  it  is  now  because  it  is  the  road 
to  you.  Please  tell  Will  Carlo  has  been  a  great  comfort  to 
me  and  is  a  general  favourite.  He  pointed  a  rat  on  board 
ship,  but  it  was  excusable,  and  him  cooped  up  so  long  and 
had  almost  forgotten  the  smell  of  a  bird,  I  daresay;  and  if 
anybody  comes  to  make-believe  to  threaten  me,  he  is  ready 
to  pull  them  down  in  a  minute.  So  tell  Will  this,  and  that  I 
do  think  his  master  is  as  much  my  friend  at  home  as  the  dog 
is  out  here. 

"Susan  dear,  I  do  beg  of  you  as  a  great  favour  to  keep 
up  your  heart,  and  not  give  way  to  grief  or  desponding 
feelings:  I  don't;  leastways  I  won't.  Poor  Mr.  Winchester 
is  here  on  the  same  errand  as  I  am.  But  I  often  think  his 
heart  is  stouter  than  mine,  which  is  much  to  his  credit,  and 
little  to  mine.  Susan  dear,  I  have  come  to  the  country  that 
is  farther  from  Grassmere  than  any  other  in  the  globe — 
that  seems  hard;  and  my  verv  face  is  turned  the  opposite 

368 


i 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

way  to  yours  as  I  walk,  but  nothing  can  ever  turn  my  heart 
away  from  my  Susan.  I  desire  my  respects  to  Mr,  Merton, 
and  that  you  tell  him  I  will  make  the  one  thousand  pounds, 
please  God.  But  I  hope  you  will  pray  for  me,  Susan,  that 
I  may  have  that  success ;  you  are  so  good  that  I  do  think  the 
Almighty  will  hear  you  sooner  than  me  or  any  one.  So 
no  more  at  present,  dear  Susan,  but  remain, 

"With  sincere  respect,  your  loving  servant  and  faithful 
lover  till  death,  George  Fielding." 

They  landed.  Mr.  Winchester  purchased  the  right  of 
feeding  cattle  over  a  large  tract  a  hundred  miles  distant  from 
Sydney,  and  after  a  few  days  spent  in  that  capital,  started 
with  their  waggons  into  the  interior.  There  for  about  five 
months  George  was  Mr,  Winchester's  factotum,  and  though 
he  had  himself  much  to  learn,  the  country  and  his  habits  be- 
ing new  to  him,  still  he  saved  his  friend  from  fundamental 
errors,  and  from  five  in  the  morning  till  eight  at  night  put 
zeal,  honesty,  and  the  muscular  strength  of  two  ordinary 
men  at  his  friend's  service. 

At  the  expiration  of  this  period  ]\Ir.  Winchester  said  to 
him  one  evening,  "George,  I  can  do  my  work  alone  now,  and 
the  time  is  come  to  show  my  sense  of  your  services  and 
friendship.  I  have  bought  a  run  for  you  about  eight  miles 
from  here,  and  now  you  are  to  choose  five  hundred  sheep 
and  thirty  beasts ;  the  black  pony  you  ride  goes  with  them." 

"Oh,  no  sir !  it  is  enough  to  rob  you  of  them  at  all  with- 
out me  going  and  taking  the  pick  of  them." 

"Well,  will  you  consent  to  pen  the  flocks,  and  then  lift 
one  hurdle  and  take  them  as  they  come  out,  so  many  from 
each  lot?" 

"That  I  consent  to,  sir,  and  remain  your  debtor  for  Hfe." 

"I  can't  see  it;  I  set  my  life  a  great  deal  higher  than 
sheepskin." 

Mr.  Winchester  did  not  stop  there ;  he  forced  a  hundred 
pounds  upon  George.  "If  you  start  in  any  business  with  an 
empty  pocket,  you  are  a  gone  coon." 

So  these  two  friends  parted  with  mutual  esteem,  and 
George  set  to  work  by  prudence  and  vigour  to  make  the 
thousand  pounds. 

369 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Qne  thousand  pounds !  This  one  is  to  have  the  woman 
he  loves  for  a  thousand  pounds :  that  sounds  cheap.  Heaven 
upon  earth  for  a  thousand  pounds.  What  is  a  thousand 
pounds?  Nothing.  There  are  slippery  men  that  gain  this  in 
a  week  by  time  bargains,  trading  on  capital  or  round  o's ; 
others  who  net  as  much  in  an  evening,  and  as  honourably, 
by  cards.  There  are  merchants  who  net  twenty  times  this 
sum  by  a  single  operation. 

"An  operation  ?"  inquires  Belgravia. 

This  is  an  operation :  you  send  forth  a  man  not  given  to 
drink,  and  consequently  chatter,  to  Amsterdam ;  another  not 
given  to  drink  and  chatter  to  New  Orleans ;  another  n.  g.  t. 
d.  and  c.  to  Bordeaux,  Cadiz,  Canton,  Liverpool,  Japan,  and 
where  not  all,  with  secret  instructions.  Then  at  an  appointed 
day  all  the  men  n.  g.  t.  d.  and  c.  begin  gradually,  secretly, 
cannily,  to  buy  up  in  all  those  places  all  the  lac-dye  or 
something  of  the  kind  that  you  and  I  thought  there  was 
about  thirty  pounds  of  in  creation.  This  done,  Mercator 
raises  the  price  of  lac-dye  or  what  not  throughout  Europe. 
If  he  is  greedy  and  raises  it  a  half-penny  a  pound,  perhaps 
commerce  revolts  and  invokes  nature  against  so  vast  an 
oppression,  and  nature  comes  and  crushes  our  speculator. 
But  if  he  be  wise,  and  puts  on  what  mankind  can  bear,  say 
three  mites  per  pound,  then  he  sells  tons  and  tons  at  this  frac- 
tional profit  on  each  pound,  and  makes  fourteen  thousand 
pounds  by  lac-dye  or  the  like,  of  which  you  and  I  thought 
creation  held  thirty  or  at  most  thirty-two  pounds. 

These  men  are  the  warriors  of  commerce;  but  its  smaller 
captains,  watching  the  fluctuations  of  this  or  that  market, 
can  often  turn  a  thousand  pounds  ere  we  could  say  J.  R. 
Far  more  than  a  thousand  pounds  have  been  made  in  a  year 
by  selling  pastry  off  a  table  in  the  Boulevards  of  Paris. 

In  matters  practical  a  single  idea  is  worth  thousands. 

This  nation  being  always  in  a  hurry,  paid  four  thousand 
pounds  to  a  man  to  show  them  how  to  separate  letter-stamps 
in  a  hurry.  "Punch  the  divisions  full  of  little  holes,"  said 
he,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  four  thousand  pounds ; 
and  now  test  his  invention,  tear  one  head  from  another  in  a 
hurry,  and  you  will  see  that  money  sometimes  goes  cheaper 
than  invention. 

370 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

A  single  idea  is  sometimes  worth  a  thousand  pounds  in  a 
book,  though  books  are  by  far  the  least  lucrative  channels 
ideas  run  in ;  Mr.  Bradshaw's  duodecimo  to  wit — profit  seven 
thousand  pounds  per  annum. 

A  thousand  pounds !  How  many  men  have  toiled  for 
money  all  their  lives,  have  met  with  success,  yet  never  reached 
a  thousand  pounds ! 

Eight  thousand  servants,  fed  and  half  clothed  at  their  mas- 
ter's expense,  have  put  by  for  forty  years,  and  yet  not  even 
by  aid  of  interest  and  compound  interest,  and  perquisites  and 
commissions  squeezed  out  of  little  tradesmen,  and  other  time- 
honoured  embezzlements,  have  reached  the  rubicon  of  four 
figures.  Five  thousand  little  shopkeepers,  active,  intelligent, 
and  greedy,  have  bought  wholesale  and  sold  retail,  yet  never 
mounted  so  high  as  this  above  rent,  housekeeping,  bad  debts, 
and  casualties.  IMany  a  writer  of  genius  has  charmed  his 
nation  and  adorned  her  language,  yet  never  held  a  thousand 
pounds  in  his  hand  even  for  a  day.  Many  a  great  painter 
has  written  the  world-wide  language  of  form  and  colour,  and 
attained  to  European  fame,  but  not  to  a  thousand  pounds 
sterling  English. 

Among  all  these  aspirants  and  a  million  more  George 
Fielding  now  made  one,  urged  and  possessed  by  as  keen  an 
incentive  as  ever  spurred  a  man. 

George's  materials  were  five  hundred  sheep,  twenty  cows, 
ten  bullocks,  two  large  sheep-dogs,  and  Carlo.  It  was  a 
keen  clear  frosty  day  in  July  when  he  drove  his  herd  to  his 
own  pasture.  His  heart  beat  high  that  morning.  He  left 
Abner,  his  shepherd,  a  white  native  of  the  colony,  to  drive 
the  slow  cattle.  He  strode  out  in  advance,  and  scarce  felt  the 
ground  beneath  his  feet.  The  thermometer  was  28°,  yet  his 
coat  was  only  tied  round  his  neck  by  the  sleeves  as  he  swept 
along,  all  health,  fire,  manhood,  love,  and  hope.  He  marched 
this  day  like  dear  Smollett's  lines,  whose  thoughts,  though 
he  had  never  heard  them,  fired  his  heart — 


""Thy    sp-irit,    Independence,    let    nie    share^ 
Lord  of  the  lion  heart  and  eagle  eye; 
Thy   steps   T    follow   with   my   bosom   bare, 

Nor  heed  the  storm  that  howls  along  the  sky/' 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

He  was  on  the  ground  long  before  Abner,  and  set  to  work 
building  a  roofless  hut  on  the  west  side  of  some  thick  bushes, 
and  hard  by  the  only  water  near  at  hand ;  and  here  he  fixed 
his  head-quarters,  stretched  a  blanket  across  the  hut  for  a 
roof,  and  slept  his  own  master. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

AT  the  end  of  six  months  George  Fielding's  stock  had 
varied  thus.  Four  hundred  lambs,  ten  calves,  fifteen 
cows,  four  hundred  sheep.  He  had  lost  some  sheep  in  lamb- 
ing, and  one  cow  in  calving ;  but  these  casualties  every  feeder 
counts  on ;  he  had  been  lucky  on  the  whole.  He  had  sold 
about  eighty  sheep,  and  eaten  a  few,  but  not  many,  and  of 
his  hundred  pounds  only  five  pounds  were  gone ;  against 
which  and  the  decline  in  cows  were  to  be  placed  the  calves 
and  lambs. 

George  considered  himself  eighty  pounds  richer  in  sub- 
stance than  six  months  ago.  It  so  happened  that  on  every  side 
of  George  but  one  were  nomads,  shepherd-kings — fellows 
with  a  thousand  head  of  horned  cattle,  and  sheep  like  white 
pebbles  by  the  sea ;  but  on  his  right  hand  was  another  small 
bucolical,  a  Scotchman,  who  had  started  with  less  means 
than  himself,  and  was  slowly  working  his  way,  making  a 
halfpenny  and  saving  a  penny  after  the  manner  of  his  na- 
tion. These  two  were  mighty  dissimilar,  but  they  were  on 
a  level  as  to  means  and  near  neighbours,  and  that  drew  them 
together.  In  particular,  they  used  to  pay  each  other  friendly 
visits  on  Sunday  evenings,  and  M'Laughlan  would  read  a 
good  book  to  George,  for  he  was  strict  in  his  observances ; 
but  after  that  the  pair  would  argue  points  of  husbandry. 
But  one  Sunday  that  George,  admiring  his  stock,  inadvert- 
ently proposed  to  him  an  exchange  of  certain  animals,  he  re- 
buked the  young  man  with  awful  gravity. 

"Is  this  a  day  for  warldly  dealings?"  said  he.  "Hoo  div 
ye  think  to  thrive  gien  y'  ofifer  your  mairchandeeze  o'  the 
Sabba  day !"  George  coloured  up  to  the  eyes.  "Ye'll  maybe 
no  hae  read  the  paurable  o'  the  money-changers  i'  the  temple, 
no  forgettin'  a  wheen  warldly-minded  chiclds  that  sell't  doos, 

Z7^ 


J 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

when  they  had  mair  need  to  be  on  their  knees  or  hearkening 
a  religious  discoorse  or  a  bit  psaum,  or  the  like.  Aweel,  ye 
need  na  hong  your  heed  yon  gate  neether.  Ye  had  na  the 
privileege  of  being  born  in  Scoetland,  ye  ken,  or  nae  doot 
ye'd  hae  kenned  better^  for  ye  are  a  decent  lad — deed  are  ye. 
Aweel,  stap  ben,  lad,  and  I'se  let  ye  see  a  drap  whisky. 
The  like  does  na  aften  gang  doon  an  Englishman's 
thrapple." 

"Whisky?  Well,  but  it  seems  to  me  if  we  didn't  ought 
to  deal  we  didn't  ought  to  drink." 

"Hout!  tout!  it  is  no  forbedden  to  taste — that's  nae  sen 
that  ever  I  heerd't — C  way." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

GEORGE  heard  of  a  farmer  who  was  selling  off  his  sheep 
about  fifty  miles  off  near  the  coast.  George  put  money 
in  his  purse,  rose  at  three,  and  walked  the  fifty  miles  with 
Carlo  that  day.  The  next  he  chaffered  with  the  farmer,  but 
they  did  not  quite  agree.  George  was  vexed,  but  he  knew 
it  would  not  do  to  show  it ;  so  he  strolled  away  carelessly 
toward  the  water.  In  this  place  the  sea  comes  several  miles 
inland,  not  in  one  sheet,  but  in  a  series  of  salt-water  lakes, 
very  pretty. 

George  stood  and  admired  the  water  and  the  native  blacks 
paddling  along  in  boats  of  bark  no  bigger  than  a  cocked  hat. 
These  strips  of  bark  are  good  for  carriage  and  bad  for  car- 
riage ;  I  mean  they  are  very  easily  carried  on  a  man's  back 
ashore,  but  they  won't  carry  a  man  on  the  water  so  well,  and 
sitting  in  them  is  like  balancing  on  a  straw.  These  absurd 
vehicles  have  come  down  to  these  blockheads  from  their  fath- 
ers, so  they  won't  burn  them  and  build  according  to  reason. 
They  commonly  paddle  in  companies  of  three ;  so  then  when- 
ever one  is  purled  the  other  two  come  on  each  side  of  him ; 
each  takes  a  hand,  and  with  amazing  skill  and  delicacy  they 
reseat  him  in  his  cocket  hat,  which  never  sinks — only  purls. 
Several  of  these  triads  passed  in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  look- 
ing to  George  like  inverted  capital  "T's."     They  went  a  tre- 

373 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

mendous  pace,  with  occasional  stoppages  when  a  purl  oc- 
curred. 

Presently  a  single  savage  appeared  nearer  the  land,  and 
George  could  see  his  lithe  sinewy  form  and  the  grace  and 
rapidity  with  which  he  urged  his  gossamer  bark  along.  It 
was  like  a  hawk — half-a-dozen  rapid  strokes  of  his  wings 
and  then  a  smooth  glide  for  ever  so  far. 

"Our  savages  would  sit  on  the  blade  of  a  knife,  I  do 
think,"  was  George's  observation. 

Now  as  George  looked  and  admired  blackee,  it  unfor- 
tunately happened  that  a  mosquito  flew  into  blackee's  nos- 
tril's, which  were  much  larger  and  more  inviting — to  a  gnat 
— than  ours.  The  aboriginal  sneezed,  and  over  went  the 
ancestral  boat. 

The  next  moment  he  was  seen  swimming  and  pushing 
his  boat  before  him.  He  was  scarce  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  shore  when  all  of  a  sudden  down  he  went.  George  was 
frightened  and  took  off  his  coat,  and  was  unlacing  his  boots, 
when  the  black  came  up  again.  "Oh,  he  was  only  larking," 
thought  George.  "But  he  has  left  his  boat — and  why,  there 
he  goes  down  again !" 

The  savage  made  a  dive  and  came  up  ten  yards  nearer  the 
shore,  but  he  kept  his  face  parallel  to  it,  and  he  was  scarce 
a  moment  in  sight  before  he  dived  again.  Then  a  horrible 
suspicion  flashed  across  George — "There  is  something  after 
him !" 

This  soon  became  a  fearful  certainty.  Just  before  he  dived 
next  time,  a  dark  object  was  plainly  visible  on  the  water 
close  behind  him.  George  was  wild  with  fear  for  poor 
blackee.  He  shouted  at  the  monster,  he  shouted  and 
beckoned  to  the  swimmer;  and  last,  snatching  up  a  stone, 
he  darted  up  a  little  bed  of  rock  elevation  about  a  yard  above 
the  shore.  The  next  dive  the  black  came  up  within  thirty 
yards  of  this  very  place,  but  the  shark  came  at  him  the  next 
moment.  He  dived  again,  but  before  the  fish  followed  him 
George  threw  a  stone  with  great  precision  and  force  at  him. 
It  struck  the  water  close  by  him  as  he  turned  to  follow  his 
prey.  George  jumped  down  and  got  several  more  stones, 
and  held  one  foot  in  advance  and  his  arm  high  in  air.  Up 
came  the  savage  panting  for  breath.     The  fish  made  a  dart, 

374 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD 

George  threw  a  stone;  it  struck  him  with  such  fury  on  the 
shoulders,  that  it  span  off  into  the  air  and  fell  into  the  sea 
forty  yards  off.  Down  went  the  man,  and  the  fish  after 
him.  The  next  time  they  came  up,  to  George's  dismay,  the 
sea-tiger  showed  no  signs  of  being  hurt,  and  the  man  was 
greatly  distressed.  The  moment  he  was  above  water  George 
heard  him  sob,  and  saw  the  whites  of  his  eyes  as  he  rolled 
them  despairingly;  and  he  could  not  dive  again  for  want  of 
breath.  Seeing  this,  the  shark  turned  on  his  back,  and  came 
at  him  with  his  white  belly  visible  and  his  treble  row  of  teeth 
glistening  in  a  mouth  like  a  red  grave. 

Rage  as  well  as  fear  seized  George  Fielding,  the  muscles 
started  on  his  brawny  arm  as  he  held  it  aloft  with  a  heavy 
stone  in  it.  The  black  was  so  hard  pressed  the  last  time  and 
so  dead  beat  that  he  could  make  but  a  short  duck  under  the 
fish's  back  and  come  out  at  his  tail.  The  shark  did  not 
follow  him  this  time,  but  cunning  as  well  as  ferocious,  slipped 
a  yard  or  two  inshore,  and  waited  to  grab  him ;  not  seeing 
him  he  gave  a  slap  with  his  tail-fin,  and  reared  his  huge  head 
out  of  the  water  a  moment  to  look  forth ;  then  George  Field- 
ing grinding  his  teeth  with  fury,  flung  his  heavy  stone  with 
tremendous  force  at  the  creature's  cruel  eye.  The  heavy 
stone  missed  the  eye  by  an  inch  or  two,  but  it  struck  the  fish 
on  the  nose  and  teeth  with  a  force  that  would  have  felled  a 
bullock. 

"Creesh!"  went  the  sea-tiger's  flesh  and  teeth,  and  the 
blood  squirted  in  a  circle.  Down  went  the  shark  like  a  lump 
of  lead,  literally  felled  by  the  crashing  stroke. 

"I've  hit  him.  I've  hit  him !"  roared  George,  seizing  an- 
other stone.  "Come  here,  quick !  quick !  before  he  gets  the 
better  of  it." 

The  black  swam  like  a  mad  thing  to  George.  George 
splashed  into  the  water  up  to  his  knee,  and  taking  blackee 
under  the  arm-pits,  tore  him  out  of  the  water  and  set  him 
down  high  and  dry. 

"Give  us  your  hand  over  it,  old  fellow,"  cried  George, 
panting  and  trembling.  "Oh  dear,  mv  heart  is  in  mv  mouth 
it  is !" 

The  black's  eye  seemed  to  kindle  a  little  at  George's  fire, 
but  all  the  rest  of  him  was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.     He  let 

375 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

George  shake  his  hand  and  said  quietly,  "Thank  you,  sar! 
Jacky  thank  you  a  good  deal !"  he  added  in  the  same  breath. 
"Suppose  you  lend  me  a  knife,  then  we  eat  a  good  deal." 

George  lent  him  his  knife,  and  to  his  surprise  the  savage 
slipped  into  the  water  again.  His  object  was  soon  revealed; 
the  shark  had  come  up  to  the  surface  and  was  floating 
motionless.  It  was  with  no  small  trepidation  George  saw 
this  cool  hand  swim  gently  behind  him  and  suddenly  dis- 
appear; in  a  moment,  however,  the  water  was  red  all  round, 
and  the  shark  turned  round  on  his  belly.  Jacky  swam  be- 
hind, and  pushed  him  ashore.  It  proved  to  be  a  young  fish 
about  six  feet  long;  but  it  was  as  much  as  the  men  could 
do  to  lift  it.  The  creature's  nose  was  battered,  and  Jacky 
showed  this  to  George,  and  let  him  know  that  a  blow  on  that 
part  was  deadly  to  them.  "You  make  him  dead  for  a  little 
while,"  said  he,  -"so  then  I  make  him  dead  enough  to  eat;" 
and  he  showed  where  he  had  driven  the  knife  into  him  in 
three  places, 

Jacky 's  next  proceeding  was  to  get  some  dry  sticks  and 
wood,  and  prepare  a  fire,  which  to  George's  astonishment 
he  lighted  thus.  He  got  a  block  of  wood,  in  the  middle  of 
which  he  made  a  little  hole ;  then  he  cut  and  pointed  a  long 
stick,  and  inserting  the  point  into  the  block,  worked  it  round 
between  his  palms  for  some  time  and  with  increasing  rapidity. 
Presently  there  came  a  smell  of  burning  wood,  and  soon 
after  it  burst  into  a  flame  at  the  point  of  contact.  Jackey  cut 
slices  of  shark  and  toasted  them.  "Black  fellow  stupid  fel- 
low— eat  'em  raw ;  but  I  eat  'em  burnt  like  white  man." 

He  then  told  George  he  had  often  been  at  Sydney,  and 
could  "speak  the  white  man's  language  a  good  deal,"  and 
must  on  no  account  be  confounded  with  common  black  fel- 
lows. He  illustrated  his  ..civilisation  by  eating  the  shark  as  it 
cooked :  that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  the  surface  was  brown  he 
gnawed  it  off,  and  put  the  rest  down  to  brown  again,  and 
so  ate  a  series  of  laminae  instead  of  a-  steak ;  that  it  would  be 
cooked  to  the  centre  if  he  let  it  alone  was  a  fact  this  gentle- 
man had  never  discovered,  probably  had  never  had  the  pa- 
tience to  discover. 

George  finding  the  shark's  flesh  detestable,  declined  it.  and 
watched   the    other.      Presently,    he   vented    his    reflections 

37^ 


ns,      H 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"Well,  you  are  a  cool  one !  Half  an  hour  ago  I  didn't  expect 
to  see  you  eating  him — quite  the  contrary."  Jacky  grinned 
good-humouredly  in  reply. 

When  George  returned  to  the  farmer,  the  latter,  who  had 
begun  to  fear  the  loss  of' a  customer,  came  at  once  to  terms 
with  him.  The  next  day  he  started  for  home  with  three  hun- 
dred sheep.  Jacky  announced  that  he  should  accompany 
him,  and  help  him  a  good  deal.  George's  consent  was  not 
given,  simply  because  it  was  not  asked.  However,  having 
saved  the  man's  life,  he  was  not  sorry  to  see  a  little  more  of 
him. 

It  is  usual  in  works  of  this  kind  to  give  minute  descrip- 
tions of  people's  dress.  I  fear  I  have  often  violated  this 
rule.     However,  I  will  not  in  this  case. 

Jacky's  dress  consisted  of,  in  front,  a  sort  of  purse  made 
of  rat-skin ;  behind,  a  bran-new  tomahawk  and  two  spears. 

George  fancied  this  costume  might  be  improved  upon ;  he 
therefore  bought  from  the  farmer  a  second-hand  coat  and 
trousers,  and  his  new  friend  donned  them  with  grinning  sat- 
isfaction. The  farmer's  wife  pitied  George  living  by  him- 
self out  there,  and  she  gave  him  several  little  luxuries ;  a 
bacon-ham,  some  tea,  and  some  orange-marmalade,  and  a 
little  lump-sugar,   and  some  potatoes. 

He  gave  the  potatoes  to  Jacky  to  carry.  They  weighed 
but  a  few  pounds ;  George  himself  carried  about  a  quarter  of 
a  hundredweight.  For  all  that,  the  potatoes  worried  Jacky 
more  than  George's  burden  him.  At  last  he  loitered  behind 
so  long  that  George  sat  down  and  lighted  his  pipe.  Present- 
ly up  comes  Niger  with  the  sleeves  of  his  coat  hanging  on 
each  side  of  his  neck  and  the  potatoes  in  them.  My  lord 
had  taken  his  tomahawk  and  chopped  off  the  sleeves  at  the 
arm-pit ;  then  he  had  sewed  up  their  bottoms  and  made  bags 
of  them,  uniting  them  at  the  other  end  by  a  string  which 
rested  on  the  back  of  his  neck  like  a  milkmaid's  balance. 
Being  asked  what  he  had  done  with  the  rest  of  the  coat,  he 
told  George  he  had  thrown  it  away  because  it  was  a  good  deal 
hot. 

"But  it  won't  be  hot  at  night,  and  then  you  will  wish  you 
hadn't  been  such  a  fool,"  said  George,  irate. 

No,  he  couldn't  make  Jacky  see  this ;  being  hot  at  the 

Z77 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

time,  Jacky  could  not  feel  the  cold  to  come.  Jacky  became 
a  hanger-on  of  George,  and  if  he  did  little  he  cost  little;  and 
if  a  beast  strayed,  he  was  invaluable ;  he  could  follow  the 
creature  for  miles  by  a  chain  of  physical  evidence  no  single 
link  of  which  a  civilised  man  would  have  seen. 

A  quantity  of  rain  having  fallen  and  filled  all  the  pools, 
George  thought  he  would  close  with  an  offer  that  had  been 
made  him,  and  swap  one  hundred  and  fifty  sheep  for  cows 
and  bullocks.  He  mentioned  this  intention  to  M'Laughlan 
one  Sunday  evening.  M'Laughlan  warmly  approved  his  in- 
tention. George  then  went  on  to  name  the  customer  who 
was  disposed  to  make  the  exchange  in  question.  At  this  the 
worthy  M'Laughlan  showed  some  little  uneasiness,  and  told 
George  he  might  do  better  than  deal  with  that  person. 

George  said  he  should  be  glad  to  do  better,  but  did  not 
see  how. 

"Humph!"  said  M'Laughlan,  and  fidgeted. 

M'Laughlan  then  invited  George  to  a  glass  of  grog,  land 
while  they  were  sipping  he  gave  an  order  to  his  man. 

M'Laughlan  inquired  when  the  proposed  negotiation  was 
likely  to  take  place.  "To-morrow  morning,"  said  George. 
"He  asked  me  to  go  over  about  it  this  afternoon,  but  I  re- 
membered the  lesson  you  gave  me  about  making  bargains 
on  this  day,  and  I  said  'To-morrow,  farmer!'" 

"Y're  a  guid  lad,"  said  the  Scot  demurely;  "y're  just  as 
decent  a  body  as  ever  I  forgathered  wi' ;  and  I'm  thinking  it's 
a  sin  to  let  ye  gang  twal  miles  for  mairchandeeze  when  ye 
can  hae  it  a  hantle  cheaper  at  your  ain  door." 

"Can  I?     I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"Ye  dinna  ken  what  I  mean?     Maybe  no." 

Mr.  M'Laughlan  fell  into  thought  a  while,  and  the  grog 
being  finished,  he  proposed  a  stroll.  He  took  George  out 
into  the  yard,  and  there  the  first  thing  they  saw  was  a  score 
and  a  half  of  bullocks  that  had  just  been  driven  into  a  circle 
and  were  maintained  there  by  two  men  and  two  dogs. 

George's  eye  brightened  at  the  sight,  and  his  host  watched 
it.  "Aweel,"  said  he,  "has  Tamson  a  bonnier  lot  than  yon  to 
gie  ye?" — "I  don't  know,"  said  George  drily;  "I  have  not 
seen  his." 

"But  I  hae,  and  he  hasna  a  lot  to  even  wi'  thern," 

378 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEXD 

"I  shall  know  to-morrow,"  said  George.  But  he  eyed 
M'Laughlan's  cattle  with  an  expression  there  was  no  mis- 
taking. 

"Aweel,"  said  the  worthy  Scot,  "ye'i"e  ^  neebor  and  a  de- 
cent lad  ye  are;  sae  I'll  just  speer  ye  ane  question.  Noo, 
mon,"  continued  he  in  a  most  mellifluous  tone,  and  pausing 
at  every  word,  "gien  it  were  Alonday,  as  it  is  the  Sabba  day, 
hoo  mony  sheep  wud  ye  gie  for  yon  bonnie  beasties  ?" 

George  finding  his  friend  in  this  mind,  pretended  to  hang 
back  and  to  consider  himself  bound  to  treat  with  Thomson 
first.  The  result  of  all  which  was  that  M'Laughlan  came 
over  to  him  at  daybreak,  and  George  made  a  very  profitable 
exchange  with  him. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  more  George  found  himself 
twice  as  rich  in  substance  as  at  first  starting;  but  instead  of 
one  hundred  pound  cash,  he  had  but  eighty.  Still  if  sold 
up,  he  would  have  fetched  five  hundred  pounds.  But  more 
than  a  year  was  gone  since  he  began  on  his  own  account. 
"Well,"  said  George,  "I  must  be  patient  and  still  keep  doub- 
ling on,  and  if  I  do  as  well  next  year  as  last,  I  shall  be  worth 
eight  hundred  pounds." 

A  month's  dry  hot  weather  came,  and  George  had  ardu- 
ous work  to  take  water  to  his  bullocks  and  to  drive  them  in 
from  long  distances  to  his  homestead,  where  by  digging  enor- 
mous tanks  he  had  secured  a  constant  supply.  No  man  ever 
worked  for  a  master  as  this  rustic  Hercvdes  worked  for  Susan 
Merton.  Prudent  George  sold  twenty  bullocks  and  cows  to 
the  first  bidder.  "I  can  buy  again  at  a  better  time,"  argued 
he. 

He  had  now  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  in  hand.* 
The  drought  continued,  and  he  wished  he  had  sold  more. 

One  morning  Abner  came  hastily  in  and  told  him  that 
nearly  all  the  beasts  and  cows  were  missing.  George  flung 
himself  on  his  horse  and  galloped  to  the  end  of  his  run.  No 
signs  of  them ;  returning  disconsolate,  he  took  Jacky  on  his 
crupper  and  went  over  the  ground  with  him.  Jacky's  eyes 
were  playing  and  sparkling  all  the  time  in  search  of  signs. 
Nothing  clear  was  discovered.  Then  at  Jacky's  request  they 
rode  ofif  George's  feeding-ground  altogether,  and  made  for  a 
little  wood  about  two  miles  distant. 

379 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Suppose  you  stop  here ;  I  go  in  the  bush/'  said  Jacky. 

George  sat  down  and  waited.  In  about  two  hours  Jacky 
came  back.     "I've  found  'em,"  said  Jack  coolly. 

George  rose  in  great  excitement  and  followed  Jacky 
through  the  stiff  bush,  often  scratching  his  hands  and  face. 
At  last  Jacky  stopped  and  pointed  to  the  ground,  "There !" — 
"There !  ye  foolish  creature,"  cried  George ;  "that's  ashes 
where  somebody  has  lighted  a  fire ;  that  and  a  bone  or  two  is 
all  I  see." 

"Beef  bone,"  replied  Jacky  coolly.  George  started  with 
horror.  "Black  fellow  burn  beef  here  and  eat  him.  Black 
fellow  a  great  thief.  Black  fellow  take  all  your  beef.  Now 
we  catch  black  fellow  and  shoot  him  suppose  he  not  tell  us 
where  the  other  beef  gone." 

"But  how  am  I  to  catch  him?  How  am  I  even  to  find 
him?" 

"You  wait  till  the  sun  so;  then  black  fellow  burn  more 
beef.  Then  I  see  the  smoke;  then  I  catch  him.  You  go 
fetch  the  make-thunder  with  two  mouths.  When  he  sees 
him  that  make  him  honest  a  good  deal." 

Ofif  galloped  George  and  returned  with  his  double-barrelled 
gun  in  about  an  hour  and  a  half.  He  found  Jacky  where  he 
had  left  him,  at  the  foot  of  a  gum-tree  tall  and  smooth  as  an 
admiral's  mainmast. 

Jacky,  who  was  coiled  up  in  happy  repose  like  a  dog  in 
warm  weather,  rose  and  with  a  slight  yawn  said,  "Now  I  go 
up  and  look." 

He  made  two  sharp  cuts  on  the  tree  with  his  tomahawk, 
and  putting  his  great  toe  in  the  nick,  rose  on  it,  made  another 
^.nick  higher  up,  and  holding  the  smooth  stem,  put  his  other 
great  toe  in  it,  and  so  on  till  in  an  incredibly  short  time  he 
had  reached  the  top  and  left  a  staircase  of  his  own  making 
behind  him.  He  had  hardly  reached  the  top  when  he  slid 
down  to  the  bottom  again  and  announced  that  he  had  dis- 
covered what  they  were  in  search  of. 

George  haltered  the  pony  to  the  tree  and  followed  Jacky, 
who  struck  farther  into  the  wood.  After  a  most  disagree- 
able scramble,  at  the  other  side  of  the  wood  Jacky  stopped 
and  put  his  finger  to  his  lips.  They  both  went  cautiously 
out  of  the  wood,  and  mounting  a  bank  that  lay  under  its 

380 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

shelter,  they  came  plump  upon  a  little  party  of  blacks,  four 
male  and  three  female.  The  women  were  seated  round  a 
fire  burning  beef  and  knawing  the  outside  laminae,  then  put- 
ting it  down  to  the  fire  again.  The  men,  who  always  serve 
themselves  first,  were  lying  gorged,  but  at  sight  of  George 
and  Jacky  they  were  on  their  feet  in  a  moment  and  their 
spears  poised  in  their  hands. 

Jacky  walked  down  the  bank  and  poured  a  volley  of  abuse 
into  them.  Between  two  of  his  native  sentences  he  uttered 
a  quiet  aside  to  George,  "Suppose  black  fellow  lift  spear,  you 
shoot  him  dead,"  and  then  abused  them  like  pickpockets 
again,  and  pointed  to  the  make-thunder  with  two  mouths  in 
George's  hand. 

After  a  severe  cackle  on  both  sides  the  voices  began  to 
calm  down  like  water  going  off  the  boil,  and  presently  soft 
low  gutturals  passed  in  pleasant  modulation.  Then  the  eldest 
male  savage  made  a  courteous  signal  to  Jacky  that  he  should 
sit  down  and  knaw.  Jacky  on  this  administered  three  kicks 
among  the  gins^  and  sent  them  flying,  then  down  he  sat  and 
had  a  gnaw  at  their  beef — George's  beef,  I  mean.  The  rage 
of  hunger  appeased,  he  rose,  and  with  the  male  savages  took 
the  open  country.  On  the  way  he  let  George  know  that  these 
black  fellows  were  of  his  tribe,  that  they  had  driven  off  the 
cattle,  and  that  he  had  insisted  on  restitution,  which  was 
about  to  be  made ;  and  sure  enough  before  they  had  gone  a 
mile  they  saw  some  beasts  grazing  in  a  narrow  valley.  George 
gave  a  shout  of  joy,  but  counting  them,  he  found  fifteen  short. 
When  Jacky  inquired  after  the  others  the  blacks  shrugged 
their  shoulders.  They  knew  nothing  more  than  this,  that, 
wanting  a  dinner,  they  had  driven  off  forty  bullocks ;  but 
finding  they  could  only  eat  one  that  day,  they  had  killed  one 
and  left  the  others,  of  whom  some  were  in  the  place  they  had 
left  them ;  the  rest  were  somewhere  they  didn't  know  where — 
far  less  care.     They  had  dined,  that  was  enough  for  them. 

When  this  characteristic  answer  reached  George  he 
clenched  his  teeth,  and  for  a  moment  felt  an  impulse  to  make 
a  little  thunder  on  their  slippery  black  carcasses,  but  he 
groaned  instead  and  said,  "They  were  never  taught  any  bet- 
ter." 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Then  Jacky  and  he  set  to  work  to  drive  the  cattle  together. 
With  infinite  difficulty  they  got  them  all  home  by  about  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  The  next  day  up  with  the  sun  to  find  the 
rest.  Two  o'clock,  and  only  one  had  they  fallen  in  with, 
and  the  sun  broiled  so  that  lazy  Jacky  gave  in  and  crept  in 
under  the  beast  for  shade,  and  George  was  fain  to  sit  on  his 
shady  side  with  moody  brow  and  sorrowful  heart. 

Presently  Jacky  got  up.     'T  find  one,"  said  he. 

"Where  ?  where  ?"  cried  George,  looking  all  around.  Jacky 
pointed  to  a  rising  ground  at  least  six  miles  ofif. 

George  groaned.  "Are  you  making  a  fool  of  me?  I  can 
see  nothing  but  a  barren  hill  with  a  few  great  bushes  here 
and  there.     You  are  never  taking  those  bushes  for  beasts  ?" 

Jacky  smiled  with  utter  scorn.  "White  fellow  stupid  fel- 
low ;  he  see  nothing." 

"Well,  and  what  does  black  fellow  see?"  snapped  George. 

"Black  fellow  see  a  crow  coming  from  the  sun,  and  when 
he  came  over  there  he  turned  and  went  down  and  not  get  up 
again  a  good  while.  Then  black  fellow  say,  T  tink.'  Pres- 
ently come  flying  one  more  crow  from  that  other  side  where 
the  sun  is  not.  Black  fellow  watch  him,  and  when  he  come 
over  there  he  turn  round  and  go  down  too,  and  not  get  up  a 
good  while.  Then  black  fellow  say,  'I  know.' " — "Oh,  come 
along!"  cried  George. 

They  hurried  on ;  but  when  they  came  to  the  rising  ground 
and  bushes,  Jacky  put  his  finger  to  his  lips.  "Suppose  we 
catch  the  black  fellows  that  have  got  wings ;  you  make  thun- 
der for  them?" 

He  read  the  answer  in  George's  eye.  Then  he  took 
George  round  the  back  of  the  hill,  and  they  mounted  the  crest 
from  the  reverse  side.  They  came  over  it,  and  there  at  their 
very  feet  lay  one  of  George's  best  bullocks,  with  tongue  pro- 
truded, breathing  his  last  gasp.  A  crow  of  the  country  was 
perched  on  his  ribs,  digging  his  thick  beak  into  a  hole  he  had 
made  in  his  ribs,  and  another  was  picking  out  one  of  his  eyes. 
The  birds  rose  heavily  clogged  and  swelling  with  gore. 
George's  eyes  flashed,  his  gun  went  up  to  his  shoulder,  and 
Jacky  saw  the  brown  barrel  rise  slowly  for  a  moment  as  it 
followed  the  nearest  bird  wobbling  off  with  broad  back  in- 
vitingly displayed  to  the  marksman.  Bang!  the  whole  charge 

382 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

shivered  the  ill-omened  glutton,  who  instantly  dropped,  rid- 
dled with  shot  like  a  sieve,  while  a  cloud  of  dusky  feathers 
rose  from  him  into  the  air.  The  other,  hearing  the  earthly 
thunder  and  Jacky's  exulting  whoop,  gave  a  sudden  whirl 
with  his  long  wing  and  shot  up  into  the  ai.-  at  an  angle,  and 
made  off  with  great  velocity;  but  the  second  barrel  followed 
him  as  he  turned,  and  followed  him  as  he  flew  down  the  wind. 
Bang!  out  flew  two  handfuls  of  dusky  feathers,  and  glut- 
ton No.  2  died  in  the  air,  and  its  carcass  and  expanded  wings 
went  whirling  like  a  sheet  of  paper  and  fell  on  the  top  of  a 
bush  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

All  this  delighted  the  devil-may-care  Jacky,  but  it  may  be 
supposed  it  was  small  consolation  to  George.  He  went  up  to 
the  poor  beast,  who  died  even  as  he  looked  down  on  him. 

"Drought,  Jacky !  drought !"  said  he ;  "it  is  Moses,  the  best 
of  the  herd.  Oh,  Moses,  why  couldn't  you  stay  beside  me? 
I'm  sure  I  never  let  you  want  for  water,  and  never  would — 
you  left  me  to  find  worse  friends!"  and  so  the  poor  simple 
fellow  moaned  over  the  unfortunate  creature,  and  gently  re- 
proached him  for  his  want  of  confidence  in  him  that  it  was 
pitiful.  Then,  suddenly  turning  on  Jacky,  he  said  gravely, 
"Moses  won't  be  the  the  only  one,  I  doubt." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before  a  loud 
"moo"  proclaimed  the  vicinity  of  cattle.  They  ran  towards 
the  sound,  and  in  a  rocky  hollow  they  found  nine  bullocks, 
and  alas !  at  some  little  distance  another  lay  dead.  Those 
that  were  alive  were  panting  with  lolling  tongues  in  the 
broiling  sun.  How  to  save  them ;  how  to  get  them  home  a 
distance  of  eight  miles.  "Oh!  for  a  drop  of  water."  The 
poor  fools  had  strayed  into  the  most  arid  region  for  miles 
round. 

Instinct  makes  blunders  as  well  as  reason.  Bestiale  est 
errare. 

"We  must  drive  them  from  this,  Jacky,  though  half  of 
them  die  by  the  way." 

The  languid  brutes  made  no  active  resistance.  Being 
goaded  and  beaten,  they  got  on  their  legs  and  moved  feebly 
away. 

Three  miles  the  men  drove  them,  and  then  one  who  had 
been  already  staggering  more  than  the  rest  gave  in  and  lay 

383 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

down,  and  no  power  could  get  him  up  again.  Jacky  advised 
to  leave  him.  George  made  a  few  steps  onward  with  the 
other  cattle,  but  then  he  stopped  and  came  back  to  the  sufferer 
and  sat  down  beside  him  disconsolate. 

"I  can't  bear  to  desert  a  poor  dumb  creature.  He  can't 
speak,  Jacky,  but  look  at  his  poor  frightened  eye;  it  seems 
to  say :  Have  you  got  the  heart  to  go  on  and  leave  me  to  die 
for  the  want  of  a  drop  of  water.  Oh,  Jacky,  you  that  is  so 
clever  in  reading  signs  of  Nature,  have  pity  on  the  poor 
thing,  and  do  pray  try  and  find  us  a  drop  of  water.  I'd  run 
five  miles  and  fetch  it  in  my  hat  if  you  would  but  find  it.  Do 
help  us,  Jacky ;"  and  the  white  man  looked  helplessly  up  to 
the  black  savage,  who  had  learned  to  read  the  small  type  of 
Nature's  book  and  he  had  not. 

Jacky  hung  his  head.  "White  fellow's  eyes  always  shut; 
black  fellow's  always  open.  We  pass  here  before  and  Jacky 
look  for  water — look  for  everything.  No  water  here.  But," 
said  he  languidly,  "Jacky  will  go  up  high  tree  and  look  a  good 
deal." 

Selecting  the  highest  tree  near,  he  chopped  a  staircase,  and 
went  up  it  almost  as  quickly  as  a  bricklayer  mounts  a  ladder 
with  a  hod.  At  the  top  he  crossed  his  thighs  over  the  stem, 
and  there  he  sat  full  half  an  hour ;  his  glittering  eye  reading 
the  confused  page,  and  his  subtle  mind  picking  out  the  minu- 
test syllables  of  meaning.  Several  times  he  shook  his  head. 
At  last  all  of  a  sudden  he  gave  a  little  start,  and  then  a 
chuckle,  and  the  next  moment  he  was  on  the  ground. 

"What  is  it?" — "Black  fellow  stupid  fellow— look  too  far 
off,"  and  he  laughed  again  for  all  the  world  like  a  jackdaw. 

"What  is  it?" — "A  little  water,  not  much." 

"Where  is  it?  Where  is  it?  Why  don't  you  tell  me 
where  it  is?" — "Come,"  was  the  answer. 

Not  forty  yards  from  where  they  stood  Jacky  stopped,  and 
thrusting  his  hand  into  a  tuft  of  long  grass,  pulled  out  a 
short  blue  flower  with  a  very  thick  stem.  "Saw  him  spark 
from  the  top  of  the  tree,"  said  Jacky  with  a  grin.  "This  fel- 
low stand  with  him  head  in  the  air  but  him  foot  in  the  water. 
Suppose  no  water,  he  die  a  good  deal  quick."  Then  taking 
George's  hand,  he  made  him  press  the  grass  hard,  and  George 
felt  moisture  ooze  through  the  herb. 

384 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Yes,  my  hand  is  wet ;  but,  Jacky,  this  drop  won't  save  a 
beast's  life  without  it  is  a  frog's." 

Jacky  smiled  and  rose.  "Where  that  wet  came  from  more 
stay  behind." 

He  pointed  to  other  patches  of  grass  close  by,  and  follow- 
ing them,  showed  George  that  they  got  larger  and  larger  in 
a  certain  direction.  At  last  he  came  to  a  hidden  nook,  where 
was  a  great  patch  of  grass  quite  a  different  colour,  green  as 
an  emerald     "Water,"  cried  Jacky,  "a  good  deal  of  water." 

He  took  a  jump  and  came  down  fiat  on  his  back  on  the 
grass,  and  sure  enough,  thought  not  a  drop  of  surface  water 
was  visible,  the  cool  liquid  squirted  up  in  a  shower  round 
Jacky. 

Nature  is  extremely  fond  of  producing  the  same  things 
in  very  different  sizes.  Here  was  a  miniature  copy  of  those 
large  Australian  lakes  which  show  nothing  to  the  eye  but  rank 
grass.  You  ride  upon  them  a  little  way,  merely  wetting  your 
horse's  feet,  but  after  a  while  the  sponge  gets  fuller  and  full- 
er, and  the  grass  shows  symptoms  of  giving  way,  and  letting 
you  down  to  "bottomless  perdition." 

They  squeezed  out  of  this  grass  sponge  a  calabash  full  of 
water,  and  George  ran  with  it  to  the  panting  beast.  Oh,  how 
he  sucked  it  up,  and  his  wild  eye  calmed,  and  the  liquid  life 
ran  through  all  his  frame ! 

It  was  hardly  in  his  stomach  before  he  got  up  of  his  own 
accord,  and  gave  a  most  sonorous  "moo,"  intended  no  doubt 
to  express  the  sentiment  of  "Never  say  die." 

George  drove  them  all  to  the  grassy  sponge,  and  kept  them 
there  till  sunset.  He  was  three  hours  squeezing  out  water 
and  giving  it  them  before  they  were  satisfied.  Then  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening  he  drove  them  safe  home. 

The  next  day  one  more  of  his  strayed  cattle  found  his  way 
home.  The  rest  he  never  saw  again.  This  was  his  first  dead 
loss  of  any  importance ;  unfortunately  it  was  not  the  last. 

The  brutes  were  demoralised  by  their  excursion,  and  being 
active  as  deer,  they  would  jump  over  anything  and  stray. 
Sometimes  the  vagrant  was  recovered — often  he  Avas  found 
dead ;  and  sometimes  he  went  twenty  miles  and  mingled  with 
the  huge  herds  of  some  Croesus,  and  was  absorbed  like  a  drop 
of  water  and  lost  to  George  Fielding.     This  was  a  bitter 

385 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


It 


blow.     This  was  not  the  way  to  make  the  thousand  pounds. 

"Better  sell  them  all  to  the  first  comer,  and  then  I  shall 
see  the  end  of  my  loss.  I  am  not  one  of  your  lucky  ones.  I 
must  not  venture." 

A  settler  passed  George's  way  driving  a  large  herd  of 
sheep  and  ten  cows.  George  gave  him  a  dinner  and  looked 
over  his  stock.  "You  have  but  few  beasts  for  so  many 
sheep,"  said  he. 

The  other  assented. 

"I  could  part  with  a  few  of  mine  to  you  if  you  were  so 
minded." 

The  other  said  he  should  be  very  glad,  but  he  had  no 
money  to  spare.     Would  George  take  sheep  in  exchange? 

"Well,"  drawled  George,  "I  would  rather  it  had  been  cash, 
but  such  as  you  and  I  must  not  make  the  road  hard  to  one 
another.     Sheep  I'll  take,  but  full  value." 

The  other  was  delighted,  and  nearly  all  George's  bullocks 
became  his  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  sheep. 

George  was  proud  of  his  bargain,  and  said,  "That  is  a  good 
thing  for  you  and  me,  Susan,  please  God." 

Now  the  next  morning  Abner  came  in  and  said  to  George, 
"I  don't  like  some  of  your  new  lot — the  last  that  are  marked 
with  a  red  V." 

"Why,  what  is  wrong  about  them?" — "Come  and  see." 

He  found  more  than  one  of  the  new  sheep  rubbing  them- 
selves angrily  against  the  pen,  and  sometimes  among  one  an- 
other. 

"Oh,  dear !"  said  George ;  "I  have  prayed  against  this  on 
my  knees  every  night  of  my  life,  and  it  is  come  upon  me  at 
last.     Sharpen  your  knife,  Abner." 

"What!  must  they  all " 

"All  the  new  lot.  Call  Jacky ;  he  will  help  you  ;  he  likes  to 
see  blood.  I  can't  abide  it.  One  hundred  and  fifty  sheep, 
eighteen-pennorth  of  wool,  and  eighteen-pennorth  of  fat 
when  we  fling  'em  into  the  pot — that  is  all  that  is  left  to  me 
of  yesterday's  deal." 

Jacky  was  called.  "Now.  Jacky,"  said  George,  "these 
sheep  have  got  the  scab  of  the  country ;  if  they  get  to  my  flock 
and  taint  it,  I  am  a  beggar  from  that  moment.  These  sheep 
are  sure  to  die,  so  Abner  and  vou  are  to  kill  them.     He  will 

386 


I 
J 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

show  you  how.  I  can't  look  on  and  see  their  blood  and  my 
means  spilled  like  water.  Susan,  this  is  a  black  day 
for  us !" 

He  went  away  and  sat  down  upon  a  stone  a  good  way  off, 
and  turned  his  back  upon  his  house  and  his  little  homestead. 
This  was  not  the  way  to  make  the  thousand  pounds. 

The  next  day  the  dead  sheep  were  skinned  and  their  bod- 
ies chopped  up  and  flung  into  the  copper.  The  grease  was 
skimmed  as  it  rose,  and  set  aside,  and  when  cool  was  put 
into  rough  barrels  with  some  salt,  and  kept  up  until  such  time 
as  a  merchant  should  pass  that  way  and  buy  it. 

"Well,"  said  George  with  a  sigh,  'T  know  my  loss.  But  if 
the  red  scab  had  got  into  the  large  herd,  there  would  have 
been  no  end  to  the  mischief." 

Soon  after  this  a  small  feeder  at  some  distance  offered  to 
change  with  M'Laughlan.  That  worthy  liked  his  own  ground 
best,  but  willing  to  do  his  friend  George  a  good  turn,  he 
turned  the  man  over  to  him.  George  examined  the  new 
place,  found  that  it  was  smaller,  but  richer  and  better  wat- 
ered, and  very  wisely  closed  with  the  proposal. 

When  he  told  Jacky,  that  worthy's  eyes  sparkled.  "Black 
fellow  likes  another  place.     Not  every  day  the  same." 

And  in  fact  he  let  out  that  if  this  change  had  not  occurred, 
his  intention  had  been  to  go  a-hunting  for  a  month  or  two,  so 
weary  had  he  become  of  always  the  same  place. 

The  new  ground  was  excellent,  and  George's  hopes,  lately 
clouded,  brightened  again.  He  set  to  work,  and  made  huge 
tanks  to  catch  the  next  rain,  and  as  heretofore  did  the  work 
of  two. 

It  was  a  sad  thing  to  have  to  write  to  Susan  and  tell  her 
that  after  twenty  months'  hard  work  he  was  just  where  he 
had  been  at  first  starting. 

One  day  as  George  was  eating  his  homely  dinner  on  his 
knee  by  the  side  of  his  principal  flock,  he  suddenly  heard  a 
tremendous  scrimmage  mixed  with  loud  abusive  epithets  from 
Abner.  He  started  up,  and  there  was  Carlo  pitching  into  a 
sheep  who  was  trying  to  jam  herself  into  the  crowd  to  escape 
him.  Up  runs  one  of  the  sheep-dogs  growling,  but  instead 
of  seizing  Carlo,  as  George  thought  he  would,  what  does  he 
do  but  fall  upon  another  sheep,  and,  spite  of  all  their  eva- 

387         - 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

sions,  the  two  dogs  drove  the  two  sheep  out  of  the  flock  and 
sent  them  pelting  down  the  hill.  In  one  moment  George 
was  alongside  Abner.  "Abner,"  said  he,  "how  came  you  to 
let  strange  sheep  in  among  mine?" — "Never  saw  them  till 
the  dog  pinned  them." 

"You  never  saw  them,"  said  George  reproachfully.  "No, 
nor  your  dog  either  tell  my  Carlo  opened  your  eyes.  A  pretty 
thing  for  a  shepherd  and  his  dog  to  be  taught  by  a  pointer. 
Well,"  said  George,  "you  had  eyes  enough  to  see  whose  sheep 
they  were.  Tell  me  that,  if  you  please?"  Abner  looked 
down. 

"Why,  Abner?" — "I'd  as  lieve  bite  off  my  tongue  as  tell 
you." 

George  looked  uneasy  and  his  face  fell.  "A  'V.'  Don't 
ye  take  on,"  said  Abner.  "They  couldn't  have  been  ten 
minutes  among  ours,  and  there  were  but  two.  And  don't 
you  blow  me  up,  for  such  a  thing  might  happen  to  the  care- 
fullest  shepherd  that  ever  was." 

"I  won't  blow  ye  up,  Will  Abner,"  said  George.  "It  is  my 
luck,  not  yours,  that  has  done  this.  It  was  always  so.  From 
a  game  of  cricket  upwards  I  never  had  my  neighbour's  luck. 
If  the  flock  are  not  tainted  I'll  give  you  five  pounds,  and  my 
purse  is  not  so  deep  as  some ;  if  they  are,  take  your  knife  and 
drive  it  into  my  heart;  I'll  forgive  you  that,  as  I  do  this. 
Carlo !  let  me  look  at  you.  See  here,  he  is  all  over  some 
stinking  ointment ;  it  is  off  those  sheep.  I  knew  it.  'Twasn't 
likely  a  pointer  dog  would  be  down  on  strange  sheep  like  a 
shepherd's  dog  by  the  sight.  'Twas  this  stuff  offended  him. 
Heaven's  will  be  done !" 

"Let  us  hope  the  best  and  not  meet  trouble  half  way." 

"Yes,"  said  George  feebly,  "let  us  hope  the  best." 

"Don't  I  hear  that  Thompson  has  an  ointment  that  cures 
the  red  scab?" — "So  they  say." 

George  whistled  to  his  pony.  The  pony  came  to  him. 
George  did  not  treat  him  as  we  are  apt  to  treat  a  horse,  like  a 
riding  machine.  He  used  to  speak  to  him  and  caress  him 
when  he  fed  him  and  when  he  made  his  bed,  and  the  horse 
followed  him  about  like  a  dog. 

In  half  an  hour's  sharp  riding  they  were  at  Thompson's,  an 
invaluable  man  that  sold  and  bought  animals,  doctored  ani- 

388 


I 


fli 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

mals,  and  kept  a  huge  boiler  in  which  bullocks  were  reduced 
to  a  few  pounds  of  grease  in  a  very  few  hours. 

"You  have  an  ointment  that  is  good  for  the  scab,  sir?" 

"That  I  have,  farmer.  Sold  some  to  a  neighbour  of  yours 
day  before  yesterday." 

"Who  was  that?" — "A  new-comer.     Vesey  is  his  name." 

George  groaned.     "How  do  you  use  it,  if  you  please?" 

"Shear  'em  close,  rub  the  ointment  well  in,  wash  'em  every 
two  days,  and  rub  in  again." 

"Give  me  a  stone  of  it." — "A  stone  of  my  ointment !  Well, 
you  are  the  wisest  man  I  have  come  across  this  year  or  two. 
You  shall  have  it,  sir." 

George  rode  home  with  his  purchase. 

Abner  turned  up  his  nose  at  it,  and  was  inclined  to  laugh 
at  George's  fears.  But  George  said  to  himself,  "I  have  Susan 
to  think  of  as  well  as  myself.  Besides,"  said  he,  a  little  bit- 
terly, "I  haven't  a  grain  of  luck.  If  I  am  to  do  any  good,  I 
must  be  twice  as  prudent  and  thrice  as  industrious  as  my 
neighours,  or  I  shall  fall  behind  them.  Now,  Abner,  we'll 
shear  'em  close." — "Shear  them !  Why,  it  is  not  two  months 
since  they  were  all  sheared." 

"And  then  we  will  rub  a  little  of  this  ointment  into  them." 

"What,  before  we  see  any  sign  of  the  scab  among  them? 
I  wouldn't  do  that,  if  they  were  mine." 

"No  more  would  I,  if  they  were  yours,"  replied  George  al- 
most fiercely.  "But  they  are  not  yours,  Will  Abner.  They 
are  unlucky  George's." 

During  the  next  three  days  four  hundred  sheep  were  clipped 
and  anointed.  Jacky  helped  clip,  but  he  would  not  wear 
gloves,  and  George  would  not  let  him  handle  the  ointment 
without  them,  suspecting  mercury. 

At  last  George  yielded  to  Abner's  remonstrances,  and  left 
off  shearing  and  anointing. 

Abner  altered  his  opinion  when  one  day  he  found  a  sheep 
rubbing  like  mad  against  a  tree,  and  before  noon  half-a-dozen 
at  the  same  game.  Those  two  wretched  sheep  had  tainted 
the  flock. 

Abner  hung  his  head  when  he  came  to  George  with  this 
ill-omened  news.  He  expected  a  storm  of  reproaches.  But 
George  was  too  deeply  distressed  for  any  petulances  of  an- 

389 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ger.  *Tt  is  my  fault,"  said  he ;  "I  was  the  master,  and  I  let 
my  servant  direct  me.  My  own  heart  told  me  what  to  do, 
yet  I  must  listen  to  a  fool  and  a  hireling  that  cared  not  for 
the  sheep.  How  should  he?  they  weren't  his,  they  were  mine 
to  lose  and  mine  to  save.  I  had  my  choice ;  I  took  it,  I  lost 
them.  Call  Jacky,  and  let's  to  work  and  save  here  and  there 
one,  if  so  be  God  shall  be  kinder  to  them  than  I  have 
been." 

From  that  hour  there  was  but  little  rest  morning,  noon,  or 
night ;  it  was  nothing  but  an  endless  routine  of  anointing  and 
washing,  washing  and  anointing  sheep.  To  the  credit  of  Mr. 
Thompson  it  must  be  told,  that  of  the  four  hundred  who  had 
been  taken  in  time  no  single  sheep  died ;  but  of  the  others  a 
good  many.  There  are  incompetent  shepherds  as  well  as  in- 
competent statesmen  and  doctors,  though  not  so  many.  Ab- 
ner  was  one  of  these.  An  acute  Australian  shepherd  would 
have  seen  the  more  subtle  signs  of  this  terrible  disease  a  day 
or  two  before  the  patient  sheep  began  to  rub  themselves  with 
fury  against  the  trees  and  against  each  other ;  but  Abner  did 
not ;  and  George  did  not  profess  to  have  a  minute  knowledge 
of  the  animal,  or  why  pay  a  shepherd?  When  this  Hercu- 
lean labour  and  battle  had  gone  on  for  about  a  week,  Abner 
came  to  George,  and  with  a  hang-dog  look,  begged  him  to 
look  out  for  another  shepherd. 

"Why,  Will,  surely  you  won't  think  to  leave  me  in  this 
strait?  Why,  three  of  us  are  hardly  able  for  the  work,  and 
how  can  I  make  head  against  this  plague  with  only  the  poor 
sav — with  only  Jacky,  that  is  first-rate  at  light  work  till  he 
gets  to  find  it  dull,  but  can't  lift  a  sheep  and  fling  her  into 
the  water,  as  the  like  of  us  can?" — "Well,  ye  see,"  said 
Abner  doggedly,  "I  have  got  the  oflfer  of  a  place  with  Mr. 
Meredith,  and  he  won't  wait  for  me  more  than  a  week." 

"He  is  a  rich  man,  Will,  and  I  am  a  poor  one,"  said  George 
in  a  faint  expostulating  tone.  Abner  said  nothing,  but  his 
face  showed  he  had  already  considered  this  fact  from  his  own 
point  of  view. 

"He  could  spare  you  better  than  I  can ;  but  you  are  right 
to  leave  a  falling  house  that  you  have  helped  to  pull  down." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  all  in  a  moment:  I  can  stay  a  week 
till  you  get  another." 

390 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"A  week !  how  can  I  get  a  shepherd  in  this  wilderness  at  a 
week's  notice?     You  talk  like  a  fool." 

"Well,  I  can't  stay  any  longer.  You  know  there  is  no 
agreement  at  all  between  us,  but  I'll  stay  a  week  to  oblige 
you." 

"You'll  oblige  me,  will  you?'  said  George,  with  a  burst  of 
indignation ;  "then  obUge  me  by  packing  up  your  traps  and 
taking  your  ugly  face  out  of  my  sight  before  dinner-time  this 
day.  Stay,  my  man,  here  are  your  wages  up  to  twelve  o'clock 
to-day ;  take  'em  and  out  of  my  sight,  you  dirty  rascal.  Let 
me  meet  misfortune  with  none  but  friends  by  my  side.  Away 
with  you,  or  I  shall  forget  myself,  and  dirty  my  hands  with 
your  mean  carcass." 

The  hireling  slunk  off,  and  as  he  slunk  George  stormed  and 
thundered  after  him,  "And  wherever  you  go  may  sorrow  and 
sickness No !" 

George  turned  to  Jacky,  who  sat  coolly  by,  his  eyes  spark- 
ling at  the  prospect  of  a  row.  "Jacky!"  said  he,  and  then  he 
seemed  to  choke,  and  could  not  say  another  word. 

"Suppose  I  get  the  make-thunder,  then  you  shoot  him." 

"Shoot  him  !  what  for  ?" 

"Too  much  bungality,^  shoot  him  dead.  He  let  the  sheep 
come  that  have  my  two  fingers  so  on  their  backs ;"  here  Jacky 
made  a  V  with  his  middle  and  forefinger,  "so  he  kill  the  other 
sheep — yet  still  you  not  shoot  him — that  so  stupid  I  call." 

"Oh,  Jacky,  hush !  don't  you  know  me  better  than  to  think 
I  would  kill  a  man  for  killing  my  sheep?  Oh,  fie!  oh,  fie! 
No,  Jacky,  Heaven  forbid  I  should  do  the  man  any  harm ;  but 
when  I  think  of  what  he  has  brought  on  my  head,  and  then 
to  skulk  and  leave  me  in  my  sore  strait  and  trouble,  me  that 
never  gave  him  ill  language,  as  most  masters  would ;  and 
then,  Jacky,  do  you  remember  when  he  was  sick  how  kind 
you  and  I  were  to  him — and  now  to  leave  us.  There,  I  must 
go  into  the  house,  and  you  come  and  call  me  out  when  that 
man  is  off  the  premises — not  before."  At  twelve  o'clock  sel- 
fish Abner  started  to  walk  to  Mr.  Meredith's,  a  distance  of 
thirty  miles.  Smarting  under  the  sense  of  his  contemptible- 
ness  and  of  the  injury  he  was  doing  his  kind  poor  master,  he 
shook  his  fist  at  the  house,  and  told  Jacky  he  hoped  the  scab 

^  Stupidity. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

would  rot  the  flock,  and  that  done  fall  upon  the  bipeds,  on  his 
own  black  hide  in  particular.  Jacky  only  answered  with  his 
eye.     When  the  man  was  gone  he  called  George. 

George's  anger  had  soon  died.  Jacky  found  him  reading 
a  little  book  in  search  of  comfort,  and  when  they  were  out  in 
the  air  Jacky  saw  that  his  eyes  were  rather  red. 

"Why  you  cry?"  said  Jacky.  "I  very  angry  because  you 
cry." 

"It  is  very  foolish  of  me,"  said  George  apologetically,  "but 
three  is  a  small  company,  and  we  in  such  trouble ;  I  thought 
I  had  made  a  friend  of  him.  Often  I  saw  he  was  not  worth 
his  wages,  but  out  of  pity  I  wouldn't  part  with  him  when  I 
could  better  have  spared  him  than  he  me,  and  now — there — 
no  more  about  it.  Work  is  best  for  a  sore  heart,  and  mine  is 
sore  and  heavy  too  this   day." 

Jacky  put  his  finger  to  his  head,  and  looked  wise.  "First 
you  listen  me — this  one  time  I  speak  a  good  many  words. 
Dat  stupid  fellow  know  nothing,  and  so  because  you  not 
shoot  him  a  good  way^  behind,  you  very  stupid.  One," 
counted  Jacky,  touching  his  thumb,  "he  know  nothing  with 
these  (pointing  to  his  eyes).  Jacky  know  possom,^  Jacky 
know  kangaroo,  know  turkey,  know  snake,  know  a  good 
many,  some  with  legs  like  dis  (four  fingers),  some  with  legs 
like  dis  (two  fingers) — dat  stupid  fellow  know  nothing  but 
sheep,  and  not  know  sheep,  let  him  die  too  much.  Knew 
nothing  with  'um  eyes.  One  more  (touching  his  forefinger). 
Know  nothing  with  dis  (touching  his  tongue).  Jacky  speak 
him  good  words,  he  speak  Jacky  bad  words.  Dat  so  stupid — 
he  know  nothing  with  dis.  One  more.  You  do  him  good 
things — he  do  you  bad  things ;  he  know  nothing  with  these 
(indicating  his  arms  and  legs  as  the  seat  of  moral  action), 
so  den  because  you  not  shoot  him  long  ago  now  you  cry ;  den 
because  you  cry  Jacky  angry.  Yes,  Jacky  very  good.  Jacky 
a  little  good  before  he  live  with  you.  Since  den  very  good ; 
but  when  dat  fellow  know  nothing,  and  now  you  cry  at  the 
bottom^  part,  Jacky  a  little  angry,  and  Jacky  go  hunting  a 
little  not  much  directly." 

With  these  words  the  savage  caught  up  his  tomahawk  and 

two  spears,  and  was  going  across  country  without  another 

^Long    ago.  'Opossum.  'At    last. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

word ;  but  George  cried  out  in  dismay,  "Oh,  stop  a  moment ! 
What,  to-day,  Jacky?  Jacky,  Jacky,  now  don't  ye  go  to-day. 
I  know  it  is  very  dull  for  the  likes  of  you,  and  you  will  soon 
leave  me,  but  don't  ye  go  to-day;  don't  set  me  against  flesh 
and  blood  altogether." — 'T  come  back  when  the  sun  there," 
pointing  to  the  east,  "but  must  hunt  a  little,  not  much.  Jacky 
uncomfortable,"  continued  he,  jumping  at  a  word  which  from 
its  size  he  thought  must  be  of  weight  in  any  argument,  "a 
good  deal  uncomfortable  suppose  I  not  hunt  a  little  dis  day." 

"I  say  no  more ;  I  have  no  right — good-bye !  Take  my 
hand;  I  shall  never  see  you  any  more." 

"I  shall  come  back  when  the  sun  there." 

"Ah !  well,  I  daresay  you  think  you  will.  Good-bye, 
Jacky;  don't  you  stay  to  please  me." 

Jacky  glided  away  across  country.  He  looked  back  once 
and  saw  George  watching  him.  George  was  sitting  sorrow- 
ful upon  a  stone,  and  as  this  last  bit  of  humanity  fell  away 
from  him  and  melted  away  in  the  distance,  his  heart  died 
within  him.  "He  thinks  he  will  come  back  to  me,  but  when 
he  gets  in  the  open  and  finds  the  track  of  animals  to  hunt  he 
will  follow  them  wherever  they  go,  and  his  poor  shallow  head 
won't  remember  this  place  nor  me ;  I  shall  never  see  poor 
Jacky  any  more !" 

The  black  continued  his  course  for  about  four  miles  until  a 
deep  hollow  hid  him  from  George.  Arrived  here,  he  in- 
stantly took  a  line  nearly  opposite  to  his  first,  and  when  he 
had  gone  about  three  miles  on  this  tack,  he  began  to  examine 
the  ground  attentively  and  to  run  about  like  a  hound.  After 
near  half  an  hour  of  this  he  fell  upon  some  tracks  and  fol- 
lowed them  at  an  easy  trot  across  the  country  for  miles  and 
miles,  his  eye  keenly  bent  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

OUR  story  has  to  follow  a  little  way  an  infinitesimal  per- 
sonage. 
Abner,  the  ungratefullish  one,  with  a  bundle  tied  up  in  a 
handkerchief,  strode  stoutly  away  towards   Mr.   Meredith's 
grazing  ground.     "I  am  well  out  of  that  place,"  was  his  re- 

393 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

flection.  As  he  had  been  only  once  over  the  ground  before, 
he  did  not  venture  to  relax  his  pace,  lest  night  should  over- 
take him  in  a  strange  part.  He  stepped  out  so  well,  that  just 
before  the  sun  set  he  reached  the  head  of  a  broad  valley  that 
was  all  Meredith's :  about  three  miles  off  glittered  a  white 
mansion  set  in  a  sea  of  pasture  studded  with  cattle  instead 
of  sails.  "Ay!  ay!"  thought  the  ungratefullish  one,  "no  fear 
of  the  scab  breaking  up  this  master — I'm  all  right  now."  As 
he  chuckled  over  his  prospects  a  dusky  figure  stole  noiselessly 
from  a  little  thicket — an  arm  was  raised  behind  him — 
crosssh !  a  hard  weapon  came  down  on  his  skull,  and  he  lay 
on  his  face  with  the  blood  trickling  from  his  mouth  and  ears. 


CHAPTER  XL.     • 

HE  who  a  few  months  ago  was  so  light-hearted  and 
bright  with  hope  now  rose  at  daybreak  for  a  work  of 
Herculean  toil  as  usual,  but  no  longer  with  the  spirit  that 
makes  labour  light.  The  same  strength,  the  same  dogged 
perseverance  were  there,  but  the  sense  of  lost  money,  lost 
time,  and  invincible  ill-luck  oppressed  him ;  then,  too,  he  was 
alone — everything  had  deserted  him  but  misfortune. 

*T  have  left  my  Susan  and  I  have  lost  her — left  the  only 
friend  I  had  or  ever  shall  have  in  this  hard  world."  This  was 
his  constant  thought  as  doggedly  but  hopelessly  he  struggled 
against  the  pestilence.  Single-handed  and  leaden-hearted  he 
had  to  catch  a  sheep,  to  fling  her  down,  to  held  her  down,  to 
rub  the  ointment  into  her,  and  to  catch  another  that  had  been 
rubbed  yesterday  and  take  her  to  the  pool  and  fling  her  in  and 
keep  her  in  till  every  part  of  her  skin  was  soaked. 

Four  hours  of  this  drudgery  had  George  gone  through 
single-handed  and  leaden-hearted,  when,  as  he  knelt  over  a 
kicking  struggling  sheep,  he  became  conscious  of  something 
gliding  between  him  and  the  sun,  he  looked  up,  and  there 
was  Jacky  grinning. 

George  uttered  an  exclamation :  "What,  come  back !  Well 
now,  that  is  very  good  of  you  I  call.  How  do  you  do?"  and 
he  gave  him  a  great  shake  of  the  hand. — "Jacky  very  well; 
Jacky  not  at  all  uncomfortable  after  him  hunt  a  little." 

394 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Then  I  am  very  glad  you  have  had  a  day's  sport,  least- 
ways a  night's  I  call  it,  since  it  has  made  you  comfortable, 
Jacky." 

"Oh,  yes,  very  comfortable  now,"  and  his  white  teeth  and 
bright  eye  proclaimed  the  relief  and  satisfaction  his  little  trip 
had  afforded  his  nature. 

"There,  Jacky,  if  the  ointment  is  worth  the  trouble  it  gives 
me  rubbing  of  it  in,  that  sheep  won't  ever  catch  the  scab,  I  do 
think.  Well,  Jacky,  seems  to  me  I  ought  to  ask  your  par- 
don— I  did  you  wrong.  I  never  expected  you  would  leave 
the  kangaroos  and  opossums  for  me  once  you  were  off.  But 
I  suppose,  fact  is  you  haven't  quite  forgotten  Twofold  Bay." 
— "Two  fool  bay?"  inquired  Jacky  puzzled. 

"Where  I  first  fell  in  with  you.  You  made  one  in  a  hunt 
that  day,  only  instead  of  hunting,  you  was  hunted,  and  pretty 
close  too,  and  if  I  hadn't  been  a  good  cricketer  and  learnt  to 
fling  true — Why,  I  do  declare  I  think  he  has  forgotten  the 
whole  thing,  shark  and  all !" 

At  the  word  shark,  a  gleam  of  intelligence  came  to  the 
black's  eye ;  it  was  succeeded  by  a  look  of  wonder.  "Shark 
come  to  eat  me — you  throw  stone — so  we  eat  him.  I  see  him 
now  a  little — a  very  little — dat  a  long  way  off — a  very  long 
way  off.  Jacky  can  hardly  see  him  when  he  try  a  good  deal. 
White  fellow  see  a  long  way  off  behind  him  back — dat  is  very 
curious." 

George  coloured.  "You  are  right,  lad — it  was  a  long  while 
ago,  and  I  am  vexed  for  mentioning  it.  Well,  any  way  you 
are  come  back,  and  you  are  welcome.  Now  }'ou  shall  do  a 
little  of  the  light  work,  but  I'll  do  all  the  heavy  work,  be- 
cause I'm  used  to  it,"  and  indeed  poor  George  did  work  and 
slave  like  Hercules ;  forty  times  that  day  he  carried  a  full- 
sized  sheep  in  his  hands  a  distance  of  twenty  yards,  and 
flung  her  into  the  water  and  splashed  in  and  rubbed  her  back 
in  the  water. 

The  fourth  day  after  Jacky's  return  George  asked  him  to 
go  all  over  the  ground  and  tell  him  how  many  sheep  he  saw 
give  signs  of  the  fatal  disorder. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Jacky  returned,  driv- 
ing before  him  with  his  spear  a  single  sheep.  The  agility  of 
both  the  biped  and  quadruped  were  droll;  the  latter  every 

395 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


^ 


now  and  then  making  a  rapid  bolt  to  get  back  to  the  pasture, 
and  Jacky  bounding  Hke  a  buck  and  pricking  her  with  a 
spear. 

For  the  first  time  he  found  George  doing  nothing.  "Dis 
one  scratch  um  back — only  dis  one." 

"Then  we  have  driven  out  the  murrain,  and  the  rest  will 
live.  A  hard  fight,  Jacky — a  hard  fight !  but  we  have  won  it 
at  last.  We  will  rub  this  one  well;  help  me  put  her  down, 
for  my  head  aches."  After  rubbing  her  a  little  George  said, 
"Jacky,  I  wish  you  would  do  it  for  me,  for  my  head  do  ache 
so  I  can't  abide  to  hold  it  down  and  work  too." 

After  dinner  they  sat  and  looked  at  the  sheep  feeding.  "No 
more  dis,"  said  Jacky  gaily,  imitating  a  sheep  rubbing  against 
a  tree. 

"No,  I  have  won  the  day ;  but  I  haven't  won  it  cheap, 
Jacky,  that  fellow  Abner  was  a  bad  man — an  ungrateful 
man." 

These  words  George  spoke  with  a  very  singular  tone  of 
gravity. 

"Never  you  mind  you  about  him." 

"No !  I  must  try  to  forgive  him ;  we  are  all  great  sinners. 
Is  it  cold  to-day?" 

"No,  it  is  a  good  deal  hot !" 

"I  thought  it  must,  for  the  wind  is  in  a  kindly  quarter. 
Well,  Jacky,  I  am  as  cold  as  ice." — "Dat  very  curious." 

"And  my  head  do  ache  so,  I  can  hardly  bear  myself." — 
"You  ill  a  little — soon  be  well." 

"I  doubt  I  shall  be  worse  before  I  am  better." — "Never  you 
mind  you.  I  go  and  bring  something  I  know.  We  make  it 
hot  with  water,  den  you  drink  it ;  and  after  dat  you  a  good 
deal  better." 

"Do,  Jacky.  I  won't  take  doctor's  stuff ;  it  is  dug  out  of 
the  ground,  and  never  was  intended  for  man's  inside.  But 
you  get  me  something  that  grows  in  sight  and  I'll  take  that; 
and  don't  be  long,  Jacky,  for  I  am  not  well." 

Jacky  returned  towards  evening  with  a  bundle  of  simples. 
He  found  George  shivering  over  a  fire.  He  got  the  pot  and 
began  to  prepare  an  infusion.  "Now,  you  soon  better,"  said 
he. 

"I  hope  so,  Jacky,"  said  George  very  gravely,  "thank  you 

396 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

all  the  same.  Jacky,  I  haven't  been  not  to  say  dry  for  the 
last  ten  days  with  me  washing  the  sheep,  and  I  have  caught 
a  terrible  chill — a  chill  like  death ;  and,  Jacky,  I  have  tried  too 
much —  I  have  abused  my  strength.  I  am  a  very  strong 
man  as  men  go,  and  so  was  my  father ;  but  he  abused  his 
strength — and  he  was  took  just  as  I  am  j:ook  now,  and  in  a 
week  he  was  dead.  I  have  worked  hard  ever  since  I  came 
here,  but  since  Abner  left  me  at  the  pinch  it  hasn't  been 
man's  work,  Jacky ;  it  has  been  a  wrestling-match  from  dawn 
to  dark.  No  man  could  go  on  so  and  not  break  down ;  but  I 
wanted  so  to  save  the  poor  sheep.  Well,  the  sheep  are  saved ; 
but " 

When  Jacky 's  infusion  was  ready,  he  made  George  take  it 
and  then  lie  down.  Unfortunately  the  attack  was  too  vio- 
lent to  yield  to  this  simple  remedy.  Fever  was  upon  George 
Fielding — fever  in  his  giant  shape ;  not  as  he  creeps  over  the 
weak,  but  as  he  rushes  on  the  strong.  George  had  never  a 
headache  in  his  life  before.  Fever  found  him  full  of  blood 
and  turned  it  all  to  fire.  He  tossed — he  raged — and  forty- 
eight  hours  after  his  first  seizure  the  strong  man  lay  weak 
as  a  child,  except  during  those  paroxysms  of  delirium  which 
robbed  him  of  his  reason  while  they  lasted,  and  of  his  strength 
when  they  retired. 

On  the  fourth  day,  after  a  raging  paroxysm,  he  became 
suddenly  calm,  and  looking  up,  saw  Jacky  seated  at  some 
little  distance,  his  bright  eye  fixed  upon  him. 

"You  better  now?"  inquired  he  with  even  more  than  his 
usual  gentleness  of  tone.  "You  not  talk  stupid  things  any 
more?" 

"What,  Jacky,  are  you  watching  me?"  said  the  sick  man. 
"Now  I  call  that  very  kind  of  you.  Jacky,  I  am  not  the  man 
I  was — we  are  cut  down  in  a  day  like  the  ripe  grass.  How 
long  is  it  since  I  was  took  ill?" — "One,  one,  one,  and  one  more 
day."— "Ay!  ay!  My  father  lasted  till  the  fifth  day,  and 
then Jacky!" — "Here  Jacky!  what  you  want?" 

"Go  out  on  the  hill  and  see  whether  any  of  the  sheep  are 
rubbing  themselves."  Jacky  went  out  and  soon  returned. 
"Not  see  one  rub  himself." 

A  faint  gleam  lighted  George's  sunken  eye.  "That  is  a 
comfort.     I  hope  I  shall  be  accepted  not  to  have  been  a  bad 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

shepherd,  for  I  may  say  T  have  given  my  life  for  my  sheep.' 
Poor  things!" 

George  dozed.  Towards  evening  he  awoke,  and  there  was 
Jacky  just  where  he  had  seen  him  last.  "1  didn't  think  you 
had  cared  so  much  for  me,  Jacky  my  boy." — "Yes,  care  very 
much  for  you.  See,  'um  make  beef-water  for  you  a  good 
deal." 

And  sure  enough  he  had  boiled  down  about  forty  pounds 
of  beef  and  filled  a  huge  calabash  with  the  extract,  which  he 
set  by  George's  side. 

"And  why  are  you  so  fond  of  me,  Jacky?  It  isn't  on  ac- 
count of  my  saving  your  life,  for  you  had  forgotten  that. 
What  makes  you  such  a  friend  to  me?" 

'T  tell  you.  Often  I  go  to  tell  you  before,  but  many  words 
dat  a  good  deal  trouble.  One — when  you  make  thunder  the 
bird  always  die.  One — you  take  a  sheep  so  and  hold  him  up 
high.  'Um  never  see  one  more  white  fellow  able  do  dat. 
One — you  make  a  stone  go  and  hit  things  other  white  fel- 
low never  hit.  One — little  horse  come  to  you :  other  white 
fellow  go  to  horse — horse  run  away.  Little  horse  run  to  you, 
dat  because  you  so  good.  One — Carlo  fond  of  you.  All  day 
now  he  come  in  and  go  out,  and  say  so  (imitating  a  dog's 
whimper).  He  so  uncomfortable  because  you  lie  down  so. 
One — when  you  speak  to  Jacky,  you  not  speak  big  like  white 
fellow,  you  speak  small  and  like  a  fiddle — dat  please  Jacky's 
ear.  One — when  you  look  at  Jacky,  always  your  face  make 
like  a  hot  day  when  dere  no  rain — dat  please  Jacky's  eye ;  and 
so  when  Jacky  see  you  stand  up  one  day  a  good  deal  high, 
and  now  lie  down,  dat  makes  him  uncomfortable ;  and  when 
he  see  you  red  one  day  and  white  dis  day,  dat  make  him  un- 
comfortable, a  good  deal :  and  when  he  see  you  so  beautiful 
one  day  and  dis  day  so  ugly,  dat  make  him  so  uncomfortable, 
he  afraid  you  go  away  and  speak  no  more  good  words  to 
Jacky,  and  dat  make  Jacky  feel  a  thing  inside  here  (touch- 
ing his  breast),  no  more  can  breathe — and  want  to  do  like 
the  gin,  but  don't  know  how.  Oh,  dear !  don't  know 
how !" 

"Poor  Jacky!  I  do  wish  I  had  been  kinder  to  you  than  1 
have.  Oh,  I  am  very  short  of  wind,  and  mv  back  is  very 
bad !" 

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IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"When  black  fellow  bad  in  "urn  back  he  always  die,"  said 
Jacky  very  gravely. 

"Ay,"  said  George  quietly.  "Jacky,  will  you  do  one  or 
two  little  things  for  me  now?" — "Yes,  do  'urn  all." 

"Give  me  that  little  book  that  I  may  read  it.  Thank  you. 
Jacky,  this  is  the  book  of  my  religion,  and  it  was  given  to 
me  by  one  I  love  better  than  all  the  world.  I  have  disobeyed 
her — I  have  thought  too  little  of  what  is  in  this  book,  and  too 
much  of  this  world's  gain.  God  forgive  me ;  and  I  think  He 
will,  because  it  was  for  Susan's  sake  I  was  so  greedy  of 
gain." 

Jacky  looked  on  awestruck  as  George  read  the  book  of  his 
religion.     "Open  the  door,  Jacky." 

Jacky  opened  the  door;  then  coming  to  George's  side,  he 
said  with  an  anxious  inquiring  look  and  trembling  voice, 
"Are  you  going  to  leave  me,  George  ?" 

"Yes,  Jacky  my  boy,"  said  George,  "I  doubt  I  am  going  to 
leave  you.  So  now  thank  you  and  bless  you  for  all  kind- 
ness. Put  your  face  close  down  to  mine — there — I  don't 
care  for  your  black  skin — He  who  made  mine  made  yours ; 
and  I  feel  we  are  brothers,  and  you  have  been  one  to  me. 
Good-bye,  dear,  and  don't  stay  here.  You  can  do  nothing 
more  for  your  poor  friend  George." 

Jacky  gave  a  little  moan.  "Yes,  'um  can  do  a  little  more 
before  he  go  and  hide  him  face  where  there  are  a  good  deal 
of  trees." 

Then  Jacky  went  almost  on  tiptoe,  and  fetched  another 
calabash  full  of  water  and  placed  it  on  George's  head.  Then 
he  went  very  softly  and  fetched  the  heavy  iron  which  he 
had  seen  George  use  in  penning  sheep,  and  laid  it  by  George's 
side ;  next  he  went  softly  and  brought  George's  gun,  and  laid 
it  gently  by  George's  side  on  the  ground. 

This  done,  he  turned  to  take  his  last  look  of  the  sick  man 
now  feebly  dozing,  the  little  book  in  his  drooping  hand.  But 
as  he  gazed,  nature  rushed  over  the  poor  savage's  heart  and 
took  it  quite  by  surprise:  even  while  bending  over  his  white 
brother  to  look  his  last  farewell,  with  a  sudden  start  he  turned 
his  back  on  him,  and  sinking  on  his  hams,  he  burst  out  crying 
and  sobbing:  with  a  wild  and  terrible  violence. 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


CHAPTER  XLL 

FOR  near  an  hour  Jacky  sat  upon  the  ground,  his  face 
averted  from  his  sick  friend,  and  cried ;  then  suddenly 
he  rose,  and,  without  looking  at  him,  went  out  at  the  door, 
and  turning  his  face  towards  the  great  forests  that  lay  forty 
miles  distant  eastward,  he  ran  all  the  night,  and  long  before 
dawn  was  hid  in  the  pathless  woods. 

A  white  man  feels  that  grief,  when  not  selfish,  is  honour- 
able, and  unconsciously  he  nurses  such  grief  more  or  less ; 
but  to  simple-minded  Jacky  grief  was  merely  a  subtle  pain, 
and  to  be  got  rid  of  as  quickly  as  possible,  like  any  other 
pain. 

He  ran  to  the  vast  and  distant  woods,  hoping  to  leave 
George's  death  a  long  way  behind  him,  and  so  not  see  what 
caused  his  pain  so  plain  as  he  saw  it  just  now.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  he  looked  upon  George  as  dead.  The  taking 
into  his  hand  of  the  book  of  his  religion,  the  kind  embrace, 
the  request  that  the  door  might  be  opened,  doubtless  for  the 
disembodied  spirit  to  pass  out,  all  these  rites  were  understood 
by  Jacky  to  imply  that  the  last  scene  was  at  hand.  Why  wit- 
ness it  ?  it  would  make  him  still  more  uncomfortable.  There- 
fore he  ran,  and  never  once  looked  back,  and  plunged  into 
the  impenetrable  gloom  of  the  eastern  forests. 

The  white  man  had  left  Fielding  to  get  a  richer  master. 
The  half-reasoning  savage  left  him  to  cure  his  own  grief  at 
losing  him.  There  he  lay,  abandoned  in  trouble  and  sickness 
by  all  his  kind.  But  one  friend  never  stirred — a  single- 
hearted,  single-minded,  non-reasoning  friend. 

Who  was  this  pure-minded  friend? — A  dog. 

Carlo  loved  George.  They  had  lived  together,  they  had 
sported  together,  they  had  slept  together  side  by  side  on  the 
cold  hard  deck  of  the  Phoenix,  and  often  they  had  kept  each 
other  warm,  sitting  crouched  together  behind  a  little  bank  or 
a  fallen  tree,  with  the  wind  whistling  and  the  rain  shooting 
by   their   ears. 

When  day  after  day  George  came  not  out  of  the  house, 
Carlo  was  very  uneasy.  He  used  to  patter  in  and  out  all  day, 
and  whimper  pitifully,  and  often  he  sat  in  the  room  where 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

George  lay,  and  looked  towards  him  and  whined.  But  now 
when  his  master  was  left  quite  alone,  his  distress  and  anxiety- 
redoubled  ;  he  never  went  ten  yards  away  from  George.  He 
ran  in  and  out  moaning  and  whining,  and  at  last  he  sat  out- 
side the  door  and  lifted  up  his  voice  and  howled  day  and 
night  continually.  His  meaner  instincts  lay  neglected ;  he  ate 
nothing ;  his  heart  was  bigger  than  his  belly ;  he  would  not 
leave  his  friend  even  to  feed  himself.  And  still  day  and  night 
without  cease  his  passionate  cry  went  up  to  heaven.    ■ 

What  passed  in  that  single  heart  none  can  tell  for  certain 
but  his  Creator,  nor  what  was  uttered  in  that  deplorable  cry ; 
love,  sorrow,  perplexity,  dismay — all  these,  perhaps,  and 
something  of  prayer — for  still  he  lifted  his  sorrowful  face  to- 
wards heaven  as  he  cried  out  in  sore  perplexity,  distress,  and 
fear  for  his  poor  master — Oh !  o-o-o-h !  o-o-o-o-h !  o-o-o- 
o-o-o-o-o-h ! 

So  we  must  leave  awhile  poor,  honest,  unlucky  George, 
sick  of  a  fever,  ten  miles  from  the  nearest  hut.  Leather-heart 
has  gone  from  him  to  be  a  rich  man's  hireling. 

Shallowheart  has  fled  to  the  forest,  and  is  hunting  kan- 
garoos with  all  the  inches  of  his  soul. 

Single-heart  sits  fasting  from  all  but  grief  before  the  door, 
and  utters  heart-rending-  lamentable  cries  to  earth  and  heaven. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

A  GAOL  is  still  a  grim  and  castellated  mountain  of  ma- 
sonry, but  a  human  heart  beats  and  a  human  brain 
throbs  inside  it  now. 

Enter  without  fear  of  seeing  children  kill  themselves,  and 
bearded  men  faint  like  women  or  weep  like  children — hor- 
rible sights. 

The  prisoners  no  longer  crouch  and  cower  past  the  officers, 
nor  the  officers  look  at  them  and  speak  to  them  as  if  they 
were  dogs,  as  they  do  in  most  of  these  places,  and  used  to 
here. 

Open  this  cell.  A  woman  rises  with  a  smile !  why  a  smile  ? 
Because  for  months  an  open  door  has  generally  let  in — what 
is  always  a  great  boon  to  a  separate  prisoner — a  human  crea- 

-*  401 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ture  with  a  civil  word.  We  remember  when  an  open  door 
meant  "way  for  a  ruffian  and  a  fool  to  trample  upon  the 
solitary  and  sorrowful !" 

What  is  this  smiling  personage  doing?  As  I  live,  she  is 
watchmaking !  A  woman  watchmaking,  with  neat  and  taper 
fingers,  and  glass  at  her  eye  sometimes,  but  not  always,  for 
in  vision,  as  well  as  in  the  sense  of  touch  and  patience, 
nature  has  been  bounteous  to  her.  She  is  one  of  four. 
Eight,  besides  these  four,  were  tried  and  found  incapable  of 
excellence  in  this   difficult  craft.     They  were  put  to  other 

things ;   for  permanent   failures  are   not  permitted   in  

Gaol.  The  theory  is  that  every  homo  can  turn  some  sort  of 
labour  to  profit. 

Difficulties  occur  often.  Impossibilities  will  bar  the  way 
now  and  then ;  but  there  are  so  few  real  impossibilities. 
When  a  difficulty  arises,  the  three  hundred  industrious  arts 
and  crafts  are  freely  ransacked  for  a  prisoner ;  ay !  ransacked 
as  few  rich  men  would  be  bothered  to  sift  the  seven  or  eight 
liberal  professions  in  order  to  fit  a  beloved  son. 

Here,  as  in  the  world,  the  average  of  talent  is  low.  The 
majority  can  only  learn  easy  things  and  vulgar  things,  and 
some  can  do  higher  things,  and  a  few  can  do  beautiful 
things,  and  one  or  two  have  developed  first-rate  gifts  and 
powers. 

There  are  25  shoemakers  (male)  ;  12  tailors,  of  whom  6 
female ;  24  weavers,  of  whom  10  female ;  4  watchmakers,  all 
female ;  6  printers  and  compositors,  5  female ;  4  engravers 
of  wood,  2  female.  (In  this  art  we  have  the  first  artist  in 
Britain,  our  old  acquaintance  Thomas  Robinson.  He  has 
passed  all  his  competitors  by  a  simple  process.  Beautiful 
specimens  of  all  the  woods  have  been  placed  and  kept  before 
him,  and  for  a  month  he  has  been  forced  to  imitate  Nature 
with  his  eye  never  off  her.  His  competitors  in  the  world 
imitate  Nature  from  memory,  from  convention,  or  from  tra- 
dition. By  such  processes  truth  and  beauty  are  lost  at  each 
step  down  the  ladder  of  routine.  Mr.  Eden  gave  clever  Tom 
at  first  starting  the  right  end  of  the  stick,  instead  of  letting 
him  take  the  wrong.)  9  joiners  and  carpenters,  3  female;  3 
who  colour  prints  downright  well,  i  female ;  2  painters,  i 
female ;  3  pupils  shorthand  writing,  i  female. 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

[Fancy  these  attending  the  Old  Bailey  and  taking  it  all 
down,  solemn  as  judges.] 

Workers  in  gutta-percha,  modellers  in  clay,  washers  and 
getters-up  of  linen,  hoe-makers,  spade-makers,  rake-makers, 
wood-carvers,  stone-cutters,  bakers,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  ad 
iniinitum.  Come  to  the  hard-labour  yard.  Do  you  see  those 
fifteen  stables  ?  There  lurk  in  vain  the  rusty  cranks ;  con- 
demned first  as  liars,  they  fell  soon  after  into  disrepute  as 
weapons  of  half-science,  to  degrade  minds  and  bodies.  They 
lurk  there  grim  as  the  used-up  giants  in  "Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress," and  like  them  can't  catch  a  soul. 

Hark  to  the  music  of  the  shuttle  and  the  useful  loom. 
We  weave  linen,  cotton,  woollen,  linsey-wolsey,  and,  not  to 
be  behind  the  rogues  outside,  cottonsey-wolsey  and  cottonsey- 
silksey ;  damask  we  weave,  and  a  little  silk  and  poplin,  and 
Mary  Baker  velvet  itself  for  a  treat  now  and  then.  We  of 
the  loom  relieve  the  county  of  all  expense  in  keeping  us, 
and  enrich  a  fund  for  taking  care  of  discharged  industrious 
prisoners  until  such  time  as  they  can  soften  prejudices  and 
obtain  lucrative  employment.  The  old  plan  was  to  kick  a 
prisoner  out  and  say — 

"There,  dog!  go  without  a  rap  among  those  who  look  on 
you  as  a  dog  and  make  you  starve  or  steal.  We  have 
taught  you  no  labour  but  crank,  and  as  there  are  no  cranks 
in  the  outside  w^orld,  the  world  not  being  such  an  idiot  as 
we  are,  you  must  fill  your  belly  by  means  of  the  only  other 
thing  you  have  ever  been  taught — theft." 

Now  the  officers  take  leave  of  a  discharged  prisoner  in 
English.  Farewell ;  good-bye ! — a  contraction  for  "God  be 
wi'  ye,"  &c.  It  used  to  be  in  French,  Sans  adieu!  an  rcvoir! 
and  the  like. 

Having  passed  the  merry  useful  looms,  open  this  cell.  A 
she-thief  looks  up  with  an  eye  six  times  as  mellow  as  when 
we  were  here  last.  She  is  busy  gilding.  See  with  what  an 
adroit  and  delicate  touch  the  jade  slips  the  long  square  knife 
under  the  gossamer  gold-leaf  which  she  has  blown  gently  out 
of  the  book,  and  turns  it  over ;  and  now  she  breathes  gentlv 
and  vertically  on  the  exact  centre  of  it,  and  the  fragile  vet 
rebellious  leaf  that  has  rolled  itself  up  like  a  hedgehog  is 
flattened  by  that  human  zephyr  on  the  little  leathern  easel. 

403 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Now  she  cuts  it  in  three  with  vertical  blade;  now  she  takes 
her  long  flat  brush,  and  applies  it  to  her  own  hair  once  or 
twice;  strange  to  say  the  camel-hair  takes  from  this  contact 
a  soup^on  of  some  very  slight  and  delicate  animal  oil,  which 
enables  the  brush  to  take  up  the  gold-leaf,  and  the  artist  lays 
a  square  of  gold  in  its  place  on  the  plaster  bull  she  is  gilding. 
Said  bull  was  cast  in  the  prison  by  another  female  prisoner, 
who  at  this  moment  is  preparing  a  green  artificial  meadow 
for  the  animal  to  stand  in.  These  two  girls  had  failed  at 
the  watchmaking.  They  had  sight  and  the  fine  sensation  of 
touch  required,  but  they  lacked  the  caution,  patience,  and 
judgment  so  severe  an  art  demands ;  so  their  talents  were 
directed  elsewhere.  This  one  is  a  first-rate  gilder;  she  mis- 
tressed  it  entirely  in  three  days. 

The  last  thing  they  did  in  this  way  was  an  elephant.  Cost 
of  casting  him,  reckoning  labour  and  the  percentage  he  ought 
to  pay  to  the  mould,  was  is.  ^d.  Plaster,  chrome,  water- 
size  and  oil-size,  3c?.;  gold-leaf.  3.^.;  i  foot  of  German  velvet, 
4c?.;  thread,  needles,  and  wear  of  tools,  id.;  total,  5^. 

Said  gold  elephant  standing  on  a  purple  cushion  was  sub- 
jected to  a  severe  test  of  his  value.  He  was  sent  to  a  low 
auction-room  in  London.  There  he  fell  to  the  trade  at  185. 
This  was  a  "knock-out"  transaction ;  twelve  buyers  had 
agreed  not  to  bid  against  one  another  in  the  auction-room, 
a  conspiracy  illegal  but  customary.  The  same  afternoon 
these  twelve  held  one  of  their  little  private  unlawful  auctions 
over  him ;  here  the  bidding  was  like  drops  of  blood  oozing 
from  flints,  but  at  least  it  was  bona  fide,  and  he  rose  to  255. 
The  seven  shillings  premium  was  divided  among  the  eleven 
sharpers.  Sharper  No.  12  carried  him  home,  and  sold  him 
the  very  next  day  for  37.?.  to  a  lady  who  lived  in  Belgravia, 
but  shopped  in  filthy  alleys,  misled  perhaps  by  the  phrase 
"dirt  cheap."  v 

Mr.  Eden  conceived  him,  two  detected  ones  made  him  at 
a  cost  of  5.?.^  twelve  undetected  ones  caught  him  first  for 
18.?.,  and  now  he  stands  in  Belgravia,  and  the  fair  ejaculate 
over  him,  "What  a  duck!" 

The  aggregate  of  labour  to  make  and  gild  this  elephant 
was  not  quite  one  woman's  work  (twelve  hours).  Taking 
18.J.  as  the  true  value  of  the  work — for  in  this  world  the 

404 


p 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


workman  has  commonly  to  sell  his  product  under  the  above 
disadvantages,  forced  sale  and  the  conspiracies  of  the 
unimprisoned — we  have  still  13^.  for  a  day's  work  by  a' 
woman. 

From  the  bull  greater  things  are  expected.  The  cast  is 
from  the  bull  of  the  Vatican,  a  bull  true  to  Nature,  and 
Nature  adorned  the  very  meadows  when  she  produced  the 
bull.  What  a  magnificent  animal  is  a  bull !  what  a  dewlap ! 
what  a  front !  what  clean  pasterns !  what  fearless  eyes !  what 
a  deep  diapason  in  his  voice !   of  which  beholding  this  his 

true  and  massive  effigy  in Gaol  we  are  reminded.   When 

he  stands  muscular,  majestic,  sonorous  gold,  in  his  meadow 
pied  with  daisies,  it  shall  not  be  "sweet,"  and  "love,"  and 
"duck" — words  of  beauty  but  no  earthly  signification ;  it 
shall  be,  "There,  I  forgive  Europa." 

And  need  I  say  there  were  more  aimed  at  in  all  this  than 
pecuniary  profit?  Mr.  Eden  held  that  the  love  of  production 
is  the  natural  specific  antidote  to  the  love  of  stealing.  He 
kindled  in  his  prisoner  the  love  of  producing,  of  what  some 
by  an  abuse  of  language  call  "creating."  And  the  producers 
rose  in  the  scale  of  human  beings.  Their  faces  showed  it — 
the  untamed  look  melted  away — the  white  of  the  eye  showed 
less,  and  the  pupil  and  iris  more,  and  better  quality. 

Gold-leaf  when  first  laid  on  adheres  in  visible  squares  with 
uncouth  edges,  a  ragged  affair ;  then  the  gilder  takes  a  camel- 
hair  brush,  and  under  its  light  and  rapid  touch  the  work 
changes  as  under  a  diviner's  rod,  so  rapidly  and  majestically 
come  beauty  and  finish  over  it.  Perhaps  no  other  art  has  so 
delicious  a  one  minute  as  this  is  to  the  gilder.  The  first  work 
our  prisoner  gilt  she  screamed  with  delight  several  times  at 
this  crisis.  She  begged  to  have  the  work  left  in  her  cell  one 
day  at  least — "It  lights  up  the  cell  and  fights  up  my  heart." 

"Of  course  it  does,"  said  Mr.  Eden.  "Aha!  what,  there 
are  greater  pleasures  in  the  world  than  sinning,  are  there?" 

"That  there  are.  I  never  was  so  pleased  in  my  life.  May 
I  have  it  a  few  minutes  ?" 

"My  child,  you  shall  have  it  till  its  place  is  taken  by  others 
like  it.  Keep  it  before  your  eyes,  feed  on  it.  and  ask  your- 
self which  is  the  best,  to  work  and  add  something  useful  ox 
beautiful  to  the  world's  material  Avealth,  or  to  steal ;  to  be  a 

405 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

little  benefactor  to  your  kind  and  yourself,  or  a  little  vermin, 
preying  on  the  industrious.     Which  is  best?" 

"I'll  never  take  while  I  can  make." 

This  is,  of  course,  but  a  single  specimen  out  of  scores.  To 
follow  Mr.  Eden  from  cell  to  cell,  from  mind  to  mind,  from 
sex  to  sex,  would  take  volumes  and  volumes.  I  only  profess 
to  reveal  fragments  of  such  a  man.  He  never  hoped  from 
the  mere  separate  cell  the  wonders  that  dreamers  hope.  It 
was  essential  to  the  reform  of  prisoners  that  moral  contagion 
should  be  checkmated,  and  the  cell  was  the  mode  adopted, 
because  it  is  the  laziest,  cheapest,  selfishest,  and  cruellest  way 
of  doing  this.  That  no  discretion  was  allowed  him  to  let  the 
converted  or  the  well-disposed  mix  and  sympathise,  and 
compare  notes,  and  confirm  each  other  in  good  under  a 
watchful  officer's  eye,  this  he  thought  a  frightful  blunder  of 
the  system. 

Generally  he  held  the  good  effect  of  separate  confinement 
to  be  merely  negative ;  he  laughed  to  scorn  the  chimera  that 
solitude  is  an  active  agent,  capable  of  converting  a  rogue. 
Shut  a  rogue  from  rogues  and  let  honest  men  in  upon  him — 
the  honest  men  get  a  good  chance  to  convert  him,  but  if  they 
do  succeed,  it  was  not  solitude  that  converted  him,  but  heal- 
ing contact.  The  moments  that  most  good  comes  to  him  are 
the  moments  his  solitude  is  broken. 

He  used  to  say  solitude  will  cow  a  rogue  and  suspend  his 
overt  acts  of  theft  by  force,  and  so  make  him  to  a  non-reflec- 
tor seem  no  longer  a  thief ;  but  the  notion  of  the  cell  effecting 
permanent  cures  might  honestly  be  worded  thus : — "I  am  a 
lazy  self-deceiver,  and  want  to  do  by  machinery  and  without 
personal  fatigue  what  St.  Paul  could  only  do  by  working 
with  all  his  heart,  with  all  his  time,  with  all  his  wit,  with  all 
his  soul,  with  all  his  strength,  and  with  all  himself."  Or 
thus : — "Confine  the  leopards  in  separate  cages,  Jock ;  the 
cages  will  take  their  spots  out  while  ye're  sleeping." 

Generally  this  was  Air.  Eden's  theory  of  the  cell — a  check 
to  further  contamination,  but  no  more.  He  even  saw  in  the 
cell  much  positive  ill,  which  he  set  himself  to  qualify. 

"Separate  confinement  breeds  monstrous  egotism,"  said  he, 
"and  egotism  hardens  the  heart.  You  can't  make  any  man 
good  if  you  never  let  him  say  a  kind  word  or  do  an  unselfish 

406 


F 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


h 


action  to  a  fellow-creature.  Man  is  an  acting  animal.  His 
real  moral  character  all  lies  in  his  actions,  and  none  of  it  in 
his  dreams  or  cogitations.  Moral  stagnation  or  cessation  of 
all  bad  acts  and  of  all  good  acts  is  a  state  on  the  borders  of 
every  vice  and  a  million  miles  from  virtue." 

His  reverence  attacked  the  petrifaction  and  egotism  of  the 
separate  cell  as  far  as  the  shallow  system  of  this  prison  let 
him.  First,  he  encouraged  prisoners  to  write  their  lives  for 
the  use  of  the  prison;  these  were  weeded  if  necessary  (the 
editor  was  strong-minded  and  did  not  weed  out  the  red  pop- 
pies) ;  printed  and  circulated  in  the  gaol.  The  writer's  num- 
ber was  printed  at  the  foot  if  he  pleased,  but  never  his  name. 
Biography  begot  a  world  of  sympathy  in  the  prison.  Sec- 
ond, he  talked  to  one  prisoner  acquainted  with  another  pris- 
oner's character,  talked  about  No.  80  to  No.  60,  and  would 
sometimes  say,  "Now,  could  you  give  No.  60  any  good  ad- 
vice on  this  point?" 

Then  if  8o's  advice  was  good,  he  would  carry  it  to  60,  and 
60  would  think  all  the  more  of  it  that  it  came  from  one  of 
his  fellows. 

Then  in  matters  of  art  he  would  carry  the  difficulties  of  a 
beginner  or  a  bungler  to  a  proficient,  and  the  latter  would 
help  the  former.  The  pleasure  of  being  kind  on  one  side,  a 
touch  of  gratitude  on  the  other,  seeds  of  interest  and  sym- 
pathy in  both.  Then  such  as  had  produced  pretty  things 
were  encouraged  to  lend  them  to  other  cells  to  adorn  them 
and  stimulate  the  occupants. 

For  instance.  No.  140,  who  gilded  the  bull,  was  reminded 
that  No.  120,  who  had  cast  him,  had  never  had  the  pleasure 
of  setting  him  on  her  table  in  her  gloomy  cell,  and  so  raising 
its  look  from  dungeon  to  workshop.  Then  No.  140  said, 
"Poor  No.  120!  that  is  not  fair;  she  shall  have  him  half  tRe 
day,  or  more  if  you  like,  sir." 

Thus  a  grain  of  self-denial,  justice,  and  charity  was  often 
drawn  into  the  heart  of  a  cell  through  the  very  keyhole. 

No.  19,  Robinson,  did  many  a  little  friendly  office  for  other 
figures,  received  their  thanks,  and  above  all  obliging  these 
figures,  warmed  and  softened  his  own  heart. 

You  might  hear  such  dialogues  as  this : — 

No.  24. — And  how  is  poor  old  No.  50  to-day  (Strutt)  ? 

407 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Mr.  Eden. — Much  the  same. 

No.  24. — Do  you  think  you  will  bring  him  round,  sir  ? 

Mr.  Eden. — I  have  great  hopes ;  he  is  much  improved  since 
he  had  the  garden  and  the  violin. 

No.  24. — Will  you  give  him  my  compliments,  sir?  No. 
24's  compliments,  and  tell  him  I  bid  him  "never  say  die !" 

Mr.  Eden. — Well,  ,  how  are  you  this  morning? — "I 

am  a  little  better,  sir.  This  room  (the  infirmary)  is  so  sweet 
and  airy,  and  they  give  me  precious  nice  things  to  eat  and 
drink." 

"Are  the  nurses  kind  to  you?" 

"That  they  are,  sir,  kinder  than  I  deserve." 

"I  have  a  message  for  you  from  No.  —  on  your  corri- 
dor?" 

"No!  have  you,  sir?" 

"He  sends  his  best  wishes  for  your  recovery." 

"Now  that  is  very  good  of  him." 

"And  he  would  be  very  glad  to  hear  from  yourself  how 
you  feel." — "Well,  sir,  you  tell  him  I  am  a  trifle  better,  and 
God  bless  him  for  troubling  his  head  about  me." 

In  short,  his  reverence  reversed  the  Hawes  system.  Un- 
der that  a  prisoner  was  divested  of  humanity  and  became  a 
number,  and  when  he  fell  sick  the  sentiment  created  was, 
"The  figure  written  on  the  floor  of  that  cell  looks  faint." 
When  he  died  or  was  murdered,  "There  is  such  and  such  a 
figure  rubbed  ofif  our  slate." 

Mr.  Eden  made  these  figures  signify  flesh  and  blood  even 
to  those  who  never  saw  their  human  faces.  When  he  had 
softened  a  prisoner's  heart,  then  he  laid  the  deeper  truths  of 
Christianity  to  that  heart.  They  would  not  adhere  to  ice  or 
stone  or  brass.  He  knew  that  till  he  had  taught  a  man  to 
love  his  brother  whom  he  had  seen  he  could  never  make  him 
love  God  whom  he  has  not  seen.  To  vary  the  metaphor,  his 
plan  was,  first  warm  and  soften  your  wax,  then  begin  to 
shape  it  after  Heaven's  pattern.  The  old-fashioned  way  is 
freeze,  petrify,  and  mould  your  wax  by  a  single  process.  Not 
that  he  was  mawkish.  No  man  rebuked  sin  more  terribly 
than  he  often  rebuked  it  in  many  of  these  cells ;  and  when 
he  did  so.  see  what  he  gained  by  the  personal  kindness  that 
preceded  these  terrible  rebukes.     The  rogue  said,  "What !  is 

408 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

it  so  bad  that  his  reverence,  who  I  know  has  a  regard  for 
me,  rebukes  me  for  it  like  this?  Why,  it  must  be  bad  in- 
deed !" 

A  loving-  friend's  rebuke  is  a  rebuke,  sinks  into  the  heart 
and  convinces  the  judgment ;  an  enemy's  or  stranger's  rebuke 
is  invective  and  irritates,  not  converts.  The  great  vice  of  the 
new  prisons  is  general  self-deception  varied  by  downright 
calculating  hypocrisy.  A  shallow  zealot  like  Mr.  Lepel  is 
sure  to  drive  the  prisoners  into  one  or  other  of  these.  It 
was  Mr.  Eden's  struggle  to  keep  them  out  of  it.  He  froze 
cant  in  the  bud.  Puritanical  burglars  tried  Scriptural 
phrases  on  him  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  they  soon  found  it 

was  the  very  worst  lay  they  could  get  upon  in  Gaol. 

The  notion  that  a  man  can  jump  from  the  depth  of  vice  up 
to  the  climax  of  righteous  habits,  spiritual-mindedness,  at 
one  leap,  shocked  his  sense  and  terrified  him  for  the  daring 
dogs  that  profess  these  saltatory  powers  and  the  geese  that 
believe  it.  He  said  to  such,  "Let  me  see  you  crawl  heaven- 
wards first,  then  walk  heavenwards ;  it  will  be  time  enough  to 
soar  when  you  have  lived  soberly,  honestly,  piously  a  year 
or  two — not  here,  where  you  are  tied  hands,  feet,  and  tongue, 
but  free  among  the  world's  temptations."  He  had  no  blind 
confidence  in  learned-by-heart  texts.  "Many  a  scoundrel  has 
a  good  memory,"  said  he. 

Here  he  was  quite  opposed  to  his  friend  Lepel.  This  gen- 
tleman attributed  a  sort  of  physical  virtue  to  Holy  Writ 
poured  anyhow  into  a  human  vessel.  His  plan  of  making 
a  thief  honest  will  appear  incredible  to  a  more  enlightened 
age ;  yet  it  is  widely  accepted  now,  and  its  advocates  call  Mr. 
Eden  a  dreamer.  It  was  this :  he  came  into  a  cell  cold  and 
stern  and  set  the  rogues  a  lot  of  texts.  Those  that  learned 
a  great  many  he  called  good  prisoners,  and  those  that  learned 
few  black  sheep ;  and  the  prisoners  soon  found  out  that  their 
life,  bitter  as  it  was,  would  be  bitterer  if  they  did  not  look 
sharp  and  learn  a  good  many  texts.  So  they  learned  lots, 
and  the  slyest  scoundrels  learned  the  most.  "Why  not?" 
said  they ;  "in  these  cursed  holes  we  have  nothing  better  to 
do,  and  it  is  the  only  way  to  get  the  parson's  good  word, 
and  that  is  always  worth  having  in  gaol." 

One  rogue  on  getting  out  explained  his  knowledge  of  five 

409 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

hundred  texts  thus : — "What  did  it  hurt  me  learning  texts  ? 
I'd  just  as  Ueve  be  learning  texts  as  turning  a  crank,  and  as 
soon  be  d — d  as  either." 

This  fellow  had  been  one  of  Mr.  Lepel's  sucking  saints, 
a  show  prisoner.  The  Bible  and  brute  force,  how  odd  they 
sound  together!  Yet  such  was  the  Lepel  system,  humbug 
apart.  Put  a  thief  in  a  press  between  an  Old  Testament  and 
a  New  Testament ;  turn  the  screw,  crush  the  texts  in,  and 
the  rogue's  vices  out !  Coinversion  made  easy !  What  a 
wonder  he  opposes  cunning  cloaked  with  religion  to  brutality 
cloaked  under  religion.  Ay !  brutality,  and  laziness,  and  sel- 
fishness, all  these  are  the  true  foundation  of  that  system. 
Selfishness — for  such  a  man  won't  do  anything  he  does  not 
Hke.  No!  "Why  should  I  make  myself  'all  things  to  all 
men'  to  save  a  soul  ?  I  will  save  them  this  one  way  or  none 
— this  is  my  way,  and  they  shall  all  come  to  it,"  says  the  Rev- 
erend Procrustes,  forgetting  that  if  the  heart  is  not  won,  in 
vain  is  the  will  crushed,  or  perhaps  not  caring  so  that  he  gets 
his  own  way. 

To  work  on  Mr.  Eden's  plan  is  a  herculean  effort  day  by 
day  repeated ;  but  to  set  texts  is  easy,  easier  even  than  to 
learn  them — and  how  easy  that  is  appears  from  the  multi- 
tude of  incurable  felons  who  have  swapped  texts  for  tickets- 
of-leave.  Messieurs  Lepel,  who  teach  solitary  depressed  sin- 
ners the  Bible  with  screw  and  lifted  lash  and  no  love  nor 
pity,  a  word  in  your  ear.  Begin  a  step  higher.  Go  first  to 
some  charitable  priest,  and  at  his  feet  learn  that  Bible  your- 
selves ! 

Forgive  my  heat,  dear  reader.  I  am  not  an  Eden,  and 
these  fellows  rile  me  when  I  think  of  the  good  they  might 
do,  and  they  do  nothing  but  force  hypocrisy  upon  men  who 
were  bad  enough  without  that.  I  allow  a  certain  latitude, 
don't  want  to  swim  in  hot  water  by  quarreling  with  every 
madman  or  every  dunce,  but  I  do  doubt  any  man's  right  to 
combine  contradictory  vices.  Now  these  worthies  are  stupid 
yet  wild,  thick-headed  yet  delirious — tortoises  and  March 
hares. 

My  sketch  of  Mr.  Eden  and  his  ways  is  feeble  and  un- 
worthy, but  I  conclude  it  with  one  master-stroke  of  eulogy : — 
He  was  the  opposite  of  these  men. 

410 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

WE  left  Thomas  Robinson  writing  his  life.  He  has 
written  it.  It  has  been  printed  by  prisoners  and  cir- 
culated among  prisoners.  One  copy  lay  in  Robinson's  cell 
till  he  left  the  prison,  and  to  this  copy  were  appended  Mr. 
Eden's  remarks  in  MS.  This  autobiography  is  a  self-drawn 
portrait  of  a  true  Bohemian  and  his  mind  from  boyhood 
up  to  the  date  when  he  fell  into  my  hands.  Unfortunately 
we  cannot  afford  so  late  in  our  story  to  make  any  retrograde 
step.  The  "Autobiography  of  a  Thief"  must  therefore  be 
thrust  into  my  Appendix,  or  printed  elsewhere. 

The  reader  has  §een  Robinson  turned  to  a  fiend  by  cruelty, 
and  turned  back  to  a  man  by  humanity. 

On  this  followed  many  sacred,  softening,  improving  les- 
sons, and  as  he  loved  Mr.  Eden  his  heart  was  open  to  them. 

Most  prisoners  are  very  sensible  of  genuine  kindness,  and 
docile  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  those  who  show  it.  They  are 
the  easiest  class  in  the  world  to  impress :  the  difficulty  is  to 
make  the  impression  permanent.  But  the  people  who  pre- 
tend to  you  that  kindness  does  not  greatly  affect,  persuade, 
and  help  convince  them,  have  never  tried  anything  but 
BRUTALITY,  and  never  will,  for  nothing  greater,  wiser,  or  bet- 
ter is  in  them. 

I  will  now  indicate  the  other  phases  through  which  his 
mind  passed  in Gaol. 

Being  shown  that  his  crimes  were  virtually  the  cause  of 
Mary's  hapless  life  and  untimely  death,  and  hard  pressed  by 
his  father  confessor,  he  fell  into  religious  despondency :  be- 
lieved his  case  desperate,  and  his  sins  too  many  for  Heaven's 
mercy. 

Of  all  states  of  mind,  this  was  the  one  Mr.  Eden  most 
dreaded.  He  had  observed  that  the  notion  they  cannot  be 
reconciled  to  God  and  man  is  the  cause  of  prisoners'  reckless- 
ness, and  one  great  means  by  which  gaol  officers  and  society, 
England  a.d.  185-,  confirm  them  in  ill. 

He  soothed  and  cheered  the  poor  fellow  with  many  a  hope- 
ful message  from  the  gospel  of  mercy,  and  soon  drew  him 
out  of  the  Slough  of  Despond ;  but  he  drew  him  out  with  so 

411 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

eager  an  arm  that  up  went  this  impressionable  personage 
from  despond  to  the  fifth  heaven.  He  was  penitent,  for- 
given, justified,  sanctified,  all  in  three  weeks. 

Moreover,  he  now  fell  into  a  certain  foul  habit.  Of  course 
Scripture  formed  a  portion  of  his  daily  reading  and  discourse 
with  the  chaplain :  Robinson  had  a  memory  that  seized  and 
kept  everything  like  a  vice,  so  now  a  text  occurred  to  him 
for  every  occasion,  and  he  interwove  them  with  all  his  talk. 
Your  shallow  observers  would  have  said,  "What  a  hypo- 
crite!" 

Not  a  hypocrite,  O  Criticaster,  but  a  chameleon !  who  had 
been  months  out  of  the  atmosphere  of  vice  and  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  religion. 

His  reverence  broke  him  off  this  nasty  habit  of  chattering 
Bible,  and  generally  cooled  him  down.  Finally  he  became 
sober,  penitent  for  his  past  life,  and  firmly  resolved  to  lead  a 
better.  With  this  began  to  mingle  amibition  to  rise  very 
high  in  the  world,  and  a  violent  impatience  to  begin. 

Through  all  these  phases  ran  one  excellent  and  saving 
thing,  a  genuine  attachment  to  his  good  friend  the  chaplain. 
The  attachment  was  reciprocal,  and  there  was  something 
touching  in  the  friendship  of  two  men  so  different  in  mind 
and  worldly  station.  But  they  had  suffered  together.  And 
indeed  a  much  more  depraved  prisoner  than  Robinson  would 
have  loved  such  a  benefactor  and  brother  as  Eden,  and  many 
a  scoundrel  in  this  place  did  love  him  as  well  as  he  could 
love  anything;  and  as  to  the  other,  the  clue  to  him  is  simple. 
While  the  vulgar  self-deceiving  moralist  loathes  the  detected 
criminal,  and  never  (whatever  he  may  think)  really  rises  to 
abhorrence  of  crime,  the  saint  makes  two  steps  upwards 
towards  the  mind  of  Heaven  itself,  abhors  crime,  and  loves, 
pities,  and  will  not  despair  of  the  criminal. 

But  besides  this,  Robinson  was  an  engaging  fellow,  full  of 
thought  and  full  of  facts,  and  the  Reverend  Francis  Tender- 
Conscience  often  spent  an  extra  five  minutes  in  his  cell,  and 
then  reproached  himself  for  letting  the  more  interesting  per- 
sonage rob  other  depressed  and  thirsty  souls  of  those  drops 
of  dew. 

One  day  Mr.  Eden,  who  had  just  entered  the  cell,  said  to 
Robinson,   "Give   me   your  hand.     It   is   as    I    feared;   your 

412 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

nerves    are    going." — "Are   they?"    said   Robinson    ruefully. 

"Do  you  nqt  observe  that  you  are  becoming  tremulous?" 

"I  notice  that  when  my  door  is  opened  suddenly,  it  makes 
me  shake  a  little,  and  twitches  come  in  my  thigh." 

'T  feared  as  much.  It  is  not  every  man  that  can  bear  sep- 
arate confinement  for  twelve  months ;  you  cannot." 

"I  shall  have  to,  whether  I  can  or  not." — "Will  you?" 

Three  days  after  this  Mr.  Eden  came  into  his  cell  and  said 
with  a  sad  smile,  "I  have  good  news  for  you ;  you  are  going 
to  leave  me." — "Oh,  your  reverence !  is  that  good  news  ?" 

"Those  who  have  the  disposal  of  you  are  beginning  to  see 
that  all  punishment  (except  hanging)  is  for  the  welfare  of 
the  culprit,  and  must  never  be  allowed  to  injure  him.  Strutt 
left  the  prison  for  my  house  a  fortnight  ago,  and  you  are  to 
cross  the  water  next  week." — "Oh,  your  reverence!  Heaven 
forgive  me  for  feeling  glad." 

"For  being  human,  eh,  my  poor  fellow  ?" 

In  the  course  of  this  conversation  Mr.  Eden  frankly  re- 
gretted that  Robinson  was  going  so  soon.  "Four  months 
more  prison  would  have  made  you  safer,  and  I  would  have 
kept  you  here  till  the  last  minute  of  your  sentence  for  the 
good  of  your  soul,"  said  he  grimly ;  "but  your  body  and 
nerves  might  have  sufifered,"  added  he  tenderly ;  "we  must 
do  all  for  the  best." 

A  light  burst  on  Robinson.  "Why,  your  reverence,"  cried 
he,  "is  it  for  fear?  Why,  you  don't  ever  think  that  I  shall 
turn  rogue  again  after  I  get  out  of  prison?" 

"You  are  going  among  a  thousand  temptations." 

"What !  do  you  really  think  all  your  kindness  has  been 
wasted  on  me?  Why,  sir,  if  a  thousand  pounds  lay  there,  I 
would  not  stretch  out  my  hand  to  take  one  that  did  not  be- 
long to  me.  How  ungrateful  you  must  think  me,  and  what 
a  fool  into  the  bargain  after  all  my  experience !" — "Ungrate- 
ful you  are  not,  but  you  are  naturally  a  fool — a  weak,  flexible 
fool :  a  man  with  a  tenth  of  your  gifts  would  lead  you  by  the 
nose  into  temptation.  But  I  warn  you  if  you  fall  now,  con- 
science will  prick  you  as  it  never  yet  has ;  you  will  be  miser- 
able, and  yet,  though  miserable,  perhaps  will  never  rise  again, 
for  remorse  is  not  penitence." 

Robinson  was  so  hurt  at  this  want  of  confidence  that  he 

413 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

said  nothing  in  reply,  and  then  Mr.  Eden  felt  sorry  he  had 
said  so  much,  "for  after  all,"  thought  he,  "these  are  mere 
misgivings ;  by  uttering  them  I  only  pain  him — I  can't  make 
him  share  them :  let  me  think  what  I  can  do." 

That  very  day  he  wrote  to  Susan  Merton.  The  letter  con- 
tained the  following : — "Thomas  Robinson  goes  to  Australia 
next  week ;  he  will  get  a  ticket-of-leave  almost  immediately 
on  landing.  I  am  in  great  anxiety ;  he  is  full  of  good  re- 
solves, but  his  nature  is  unstable,  yet  I  should  not  fear  to 
trust  him  anywhere  if  I  could  but  choose  his  associates.  In 
this  difficulty  I  have  thought  of  George  Fielding.  You  know 
I  can  read  characters,  and  though  you  never  summed  George 
up  to  me,  his  sayings  and  doings  reveal  him  to  me.  He  is  a 
man  in  whom  honesty  is  engrained.  Poor  Robinson  with 
such  a  companion  would  be  as  honest  as  the  day,  and  a  use- 
ful friend,  for  he  is  full  of  resources.  Then,  dear  friend,  will 
you  do  a  Christian  act  and  come  to  our  aid.  I  want  you  to 
write  a  note  to  Mr.  Fielding  and  let  this  poor  fellow  take  it 
to  him.  Armed  with  this,  my  convert  will  not  be  shy  of  ap- 
proaching the  honest  man.  and  the  exile  will  not  hate  me  for 
this  trick,  will  he  ?  I  send  you  enclosed  the  poor  clever  fool's 
life  written  by  himself,  and  printed  by  my  girls.  Read  it 
and  tell  me  are  we  wrong  in  making  every  eflfort  to  save  such 
a  man  ?"  &c. 

By  return  of  post  came  a  reply  from  Susan  Merton,  full  of 
pity  for  Robinson  and  affectionate  zeal  to  co-operate  in  any 
way  with  her  friend.  Enclosed  was  a  letter  addressed  to 
George  Fielding,  the  envelope  not  closed.  Mr.  Eden  slipped 
in  a  banknote  and  a  very  small  envelope  and  closed  it,  placed 
it  in  a  larger  envelope,  sealed  that,  and  copied  the  first  ad- 
dress on  its  cover. 

He  now  gave  Robinson  more  of  his  time  than  ever,  and 
seemed  to  cling  to  him  with  almost  a  motherly  apprehension. 
Robinson  noticed  it  and  felt  it  very,  very  much,  and  his  joy 
at  getting  out  of  prison  oozed  away  more  and  more  as  the 
day  drew  near. 

That  day  came  at  last.  Robinson  was  taken  by  Evans  to 
the  chaplain's  room  to  bid  him  farewell.  He  found  him 
walking  about  the  room  in  deep  thought.  "Robinson,  when 
you  are  thousands  of  miles  from  me.  bear  this  in  mind,  that 

414 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

if  you  fall  again  you  will  break  my  heart.'' — "I  know  it,  sir — 
I  know  it;  for  you  would  say,  'If  I  could  not  save  him,  who 
can  I  hope  to  ?'  " 

"You  would  not  like  to  break  my  heart — to  discourage 
your  friend  and  brother  in  the  good  work,  the  difficult  work  ?" 

"I  would  rather  die ;  if  it  is  to  be  so,  I  pray  Heaven  to 
strike  me  dead  in  this  room  while  I  am  fit  to  die." 

"Don't  say  that ;  live  to  repair  your  crimes,  and  to  make  me 
prouder  of  you  than  a  mother  of  her  first-born."  He  paused 
and  walked  the  room  in  silence.  Presently  he  stopped  in 
front  of  Robinson.  "You  have  often  said  you  owed  me 
something." 

"My  life  and  my  soul's  salvation,"  was  the  instant  reply. 

"I  ask  a  return ;  square  the  account  with  me." 

"That  I  can  never  do." 

"You  can !  I  will  take  two  favours  in  return  for  all  you 
say  I  have  done  for  you.  No  idle  words,  but  yes  or  no  upon 
your  honour.  Will  you  grant  them  or  won't  you?" — "I  will, 
upon  my  honour." 

"One  is  that  you  will  pray  very  often,  not  only  morning 
and  evening,  but  at  sunset,  at  that  dangerous  hour  to  you 
when  evil  association  begins ;  at  that  hour  honest  men  retire 
out  of  sight  and  rogues  come  abroad  like  vermin  and  wild 
beasts ;  but  most  of  all  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  a 
temptation  comes  near  you,  at  that  moment  pray !  Don't 
wait  to  see  how  strong  the  temptation  is,  and  whether  you 
can't  conquer  it  without  help  from  above.  At  the  sight  of 
an  enemy,  put  on  heavenly  armour — pray !  No  need  to  kneel 
or  to  go  apart !  Two  words  secretly  cast  heavenwards, 
'Lord,  help  me,'  are  prayer.     Will  you  so  pray?" — "Yes!" 

"Then  give  me  your  hand ;  here  is  a  plain  gold  ring  to  re- 
call this  sacred  promise ;  put  it  on,  wear  it,  and  look  at  it,  and 
never  lose  it  or  forget  your  promise." 

"Them  that  take  it  must  cut  my  hand  ofif  with  it." 

"Enough !  it  is  a  promise.  My  second  request  is  that  the 
moment  you  are  free  you  will  go  and  stay  with  an  honest 
man." 

"I  ask  no  better,  sir.  if  he  will  have  me." 

"George  Fielding,  he  has  a  farm  near  Bathurst." 

"George  Fielding,  sir?     He  affronted  me  when  I  was  in 

415 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

trouble.  It  was  no  more  than  I  deserved.  I  forgive  him; 
but  you  don't  know  the  lad,  sir.  He  would  not  speak  to  me ; 
he  would  not  look  at  me.  He  would  turn  his  back  on  me  if 
we  ran  against  one  another  in  a  wilderness." 

"Here  is  a  talisman  that  will  ensure  you  a  welcome  from 
him — a  letter  from  the  woman  he  loves.     Come,  yes  or  no?" 

"I  will,  sir,  for  your  sake,  not  for  theirs.  Sir,  do  pray 
give  me  something  harder  to  do  for  you  than  these  two 
things." 

"No,  I  won't  overweight  you,  nor  encumber  your  memory 
with  pledges — these  two  and  no  more.  And  here  we  part. 
See  what  it  is  to  sin  against  society.  I  whom  your  conversa- 
tion has  so  interested,  to  whom  your  company  is  so  agreeable 
— in  one  word,  I  who  love  you,  can  find  no  kinder  word  to 
say  to  you  to-day  than  this — Let  me  never  see  your  face 
again — let  me  never  hear  your  name  in  this  world !" 

His  voice  trembled  as  he  said  these  words,  and  he  wrung 
Robinson's  hand,  and  Robinson  groaned  and  turned  away. 

"So  now  I  can  do  no  more  for  you ;  I  must  leave  the  rest  to 
God."  And  with  these  words,  for  the  second  time  in  their 
acquaintance,  the  good  soul  kneeled  down  and  prayed  aloud 
for  this  man.  And  this  time  he  prayed  at  length  with  ardour 
and  tenderness  unspeakable.  He  prayed  as  for  a  brother  on 
the  brink  of  a  precipice.  He  wrestled  with  Heaven ;  and  ere 
he  concluded  he  heard  a  subdued  sound  near  him,  and  it  was 
poor  Robinson,  who,  touched  and  penetrated  by  such  angelic 
love,  and  awe-struck  to  hear  a  good  man  pour  out  his  very 
soul  at  the  mercy-seat  of  Heaven,  had  crept  timidly  to  his 
side  and  knelt  there,  bearing  his  mute  part  in  this  fervent 
supplication. 

As  Mr.  Eden  rose  from  his  knees  Evans  knocked  gently  at 
the  door ;  he  had  been  waiting  some  minutes,  but  had  heard 
the  voice  of  prayer,  and  reverently  forbore  to  interrupt  it. 
At  his  knock  the  priest  and  the  thief  started.  The  priest 
suddenly  held  out  both  his  hands ;  the  thief  bowed  his  head 
and  kissed  them  many  times,  and  on  this  they  parted  hastily, 
with  swelling  hearts  and  not  another  word,  except  the  thou- 
sands that  their  moist  eyes  exchanged  in  one  single  look — the 
last. 

416 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE  ship  was  to  sail  in  a  week,  and  meantime  Robinson 
was  in  the  hulks  at  Portsmouth.  Now  the  hulks  are 
a  disgrace  to  Europe,  and  a  most  incongruous  appendage  to 
a  system  that  professes  to  cure  by  separate  confinement.  One 
or  two  of  the  worst  convicts  made  the  usual  overtures  of  evil 
companionship  to  Robinson.  These  were  coldly  declined, 
and  it  was  a  good  sign  that  Robinson,  being  permitted  by  the 
regulations  to  write  one  letter,  did  not  write  to  any  of  his  old 
pals  in  London  or  elsewhere,  but  to  Mr.  Eden.  He  told  him 
that  he  regretted  his  quiet  cell,  where  his  ears  were  never  in- 
vaded with  blasphemy  and  indecency,  things  he  never  took 
pleasure  in  even  at  his  worst,  and  missed  his  reverence's  talk 
sadly.  He  concluded  by  asking  for  some  good  books  by  way 
of  antidote. 

He  received  no  answer  while  at  Portsmouth,  but  the  vessel 
having  sailed,  and  lying  two  days  ofif  Plymouth,  his  name  was 
called  just  before  she  weighed  again  and  a  thick  letter  hand- 
ed to  him.  He  opened  it  eagerly,  and  two  things  fell  on  the 
deck — a  sovereign  and  a  tract.  The  sovereign  rolled  off  and 
made  for  the  sea.  Robinson  darted  after  it  and  saved  it  from 
the  deep  and  the  surrounding  rogues.  Then  he  read  a  letter 
which  was  also  in  the  enclosure.  It  was  short:  in  it  Mr. 
Eden  told  him  he  had  sent  him  the  last  tract  printed  in  the 
prison.  "It  is  called  'The  Wages  of  Sin  are  Death.'  It  is 
not  the  same  one  you  made  into  cards;  that  being  out  of 
print  and  the  author  dead,  I  have  been  tempted  by  that  good 
true  title  to  write  another.  I  think  you  will  value  it  none 
the  less  for  being  written  by  me  and  printed  by  our  brothers 
and  sisters  in  this  place.  I  enclose  one  pound  that  you  may 
not  be  tempted  for  want  of  a  shilling." 

Robinson  looked  round  for  the  tract ;  it  was  not  to  be  seen ; 
nobody  had  seen  it.  N.B.  It  had  been  through  a  dozen  light- 
fingered  hands  already,  and  was  now  being  laughed  at  and 
blasphemed  over  by  two  filthy  ruffians  behind  a  barrel  on  the 
lower  deck.  Robinson  was  first  in  a  fury,  and  then, 
when  he  found  it  was  really  stolen  from  him.  he  was 
very   much   cut    up.    'T    wish    I    had    lifted    it   and    let   the 

417 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

money  roll.     However,"  thought  he,  "if  I  keep  quiet  I  shall 
hear  of  it." 

He  did  hear  of  it,  but  he  never  saw  it ;  for  one  of  these 
hardened  creatures  that  had  got  hold  of  it  had  a  spite  against 
Robinson  for  refusing  his  proffered  amity,  and  the  malicious 
dog,  after  keeping  it  several  hours,  hearing  Robinson 
threaten  to  inform  against  whoever  had  taken  it,  made  him- 
self safe  and  gratified  his  spite  by  flinging  it  into  the  Channel. 

This  too  came  in  due  course  to  Robinson's  ears.  He  mor- 
alised on  it.  "I  made  the  first  into  the  devil's  books,"  said 
he,  "and  now  a  child  of  the  devil  has  robbed  me  of  the  sec- 
ond. I  shan't  get  a  third  chance.  I  would  give  my  sove- 
reign and  more  to  see  what  his  reverence  says  about  'The 
wages  of  sin  are  death.'  The  very  title  is  a  sermon.  I  pray 
Heaven  the  dirty  hand  that  robbed  me  of  it  may  rot  off  at  the 
No  !     I  forgot.     Bless,  and  curse  not !" 

And  now  Robinson  was  confined  for  five  months  in  a 
wooden  prison  with  the  scum  of  our  gaols.  No  cell  to  take 
refuge  in  from  evil  society.  And  in  that  wretched  five 
months  this  perpetual  contact  with  criminals,  many  of  them 
all  but  incurable,  took  the  gloss  oflf  him.  His  good  resolu- 
tions were  unshaken,  but  his  repugnance  to  evil  associates  be- 
came gradually  worn  away. 

At  last  they  landed  at  Sydney.  They  were  employed  for 
about  a  fortnight  in  some  Government  works  a  mile  from  the 
town,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  was  picked  out  by  a 
gentleman  who  wanted  a  servant. 

Robinson's  work  was  to  call  him  not  too  early,  to  clean  his 
boots,  go  on  errands  into  the  town,  and  be  always  in  the  way 
till  five  o'clock.  From  that  hour  until  about  two  in  the 
morning  Mr.  Miles  devoted  to  amusement,  returning  with  his 
latch-key,  and  often  rousing  the  night-owl  and  his  servant 
with  a  bacchanalian  or  Anacreontic  melody.  In  short,  Mr. 
Miles  was  a  loose  fish,  a  bachelor  who  had  recently  inherited 
the  fortune  of  an  old  screw,  his  uncle,  and  was  spending 
thrift  in  all  the  traditional  modes — horses,  dogs,  women, 
cards,  &c. 

He  was  a  good-natured  creature,  and  one  morning  as  he 
brought  him  up  his  hot-water  and  his  soda  water  Robinson 
ventured  on  a  friendly  remonstrance. 

418 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Mr.  Miles  flung  canting  rogue  and  half-a-dozen  oaths  and 
one  boot  at  his  head,  and  was  preparing  to  add  a  tumbler, 
when  his  mentor  whipped  into  the  lobby. 

Robinson  could  not  have  fallen  to  a  worse  master  than  this, 
whose  irregularities  were  so  regular  that  his  servant  had 
always  seven  hours  to  spend  in  the  town  as  he  pleased.  There 
he  was  often  solicited  to  join  in  depredations  on  property. 
For  he  found  half  his  old  acquaintances  were  collected  by 
the  magic  of  the  law  on  this  spot  of  earth. 

Robinson  took  a  particular  pride  in  telling  these  gentlemen 
that  he  had  no  objection  to  taking  a  friendly  glass  with  them, 
and  talking  over  old  times,  but  that  as  for  taking  what  did 
not  belong  to  him,  all  that  was  over  for  ever.  In  short,  he 
improved  on  Mr.  Eden's  instructions.  Instead  of  flying  from 
temptation  like  a  coward  conscious  of  weakness,  he  nobly 
faced  it,  and  walked  cool,  collected,  and  safe  on  the  edge  of 
danger. 

One  good  result  of  this  was  that  he  spent  his  wages  every 
month  faster  than  he  got  them,  and  spent  the  clothes  his 
master  gave  him,  and  these  were  worth  more  than  his  wages, 
for  Mr.  Miles  was  going  the  pace — wore  nothing  after  the 
gloss  was  off  it.  But  Robinson  had  never  lived  out  of  prison 
at  less  than  five  hundred  per  annum,  and  the  evening  is  a 
good  time  in  the  day  for  spending  money  in  a  town,  and  his 
evenings  were  all  his  own. 

One  evening  a  young  tradeswoman,  with  whom  he  was 
flirting,  in  the  character  of  a  merchant's  clerk  tremendously 
busy,  who  could  only  get  out  in  the  evening;  this  young 
woman,  whom  he  had  often  solicited  to  go  to  the  theatre, 
consented. 

"I  could  go  with  you  to-morrow,  my  sister  and  I,"  said 
she. 

Robinson  expressed  his  delight,  but  consulting  his  pockets, 
found  he  had  not  the  means  of  paying  for  their  seats,  and  he 
could  not  pawn  any  clothes,  for  he  had  but  two  sets.  One 
(yellowish)  that  Government  compelled  him  to  wear  by  day- 
light, and  one  a  present  from  his  master  (black).  That,  to- 
gether with  a  moustache,  admitted  him  into  the  bosom  of  so- 
ciety at  night.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Propose  to  the  ladies 
to  pay;  that  was  quite  without  precedent.     Ask  his  master 

419 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

for  an  advance ;  impossible.  His  master  was  gone  kangaroo- 
hunting  for  three  days.  Borrow  some  of  his  master's  clothes 
and  pawn  them,  that  was  too  like  theft.  He  would  pawn  his 
ring,  it  would  only  be  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  would  not 
spend  a  farthing  more  till  he  had  got  it  back. 

He  pawned  Mr.  Eden's  ring;  it  just  paid  for  their  places 
at  the  theatre,  where  they  saw  the  living  puppets  of  the  col- 
ony mop  and  mow  and  rant  under  the  title  of  acting.  This 
was  so  interesting  that  Robinson  was  thinking  of  his  ring  the 
whole  time,  and  how  to  get  it  back.  The  girls  agreed  be- 
tween themselves  they  had  never  enjoyed  so  dull  a  cavalier. 

The  next  day  a  line  from  Mr.  Miles  to  say  that  he  should 
not  be  back  for  a  week.  No  hope  of  funds  from  him..  So 
Robinson  pawned  his  black  coat  and  got  back  his  ring;  and 
as  the  trousers  and  waistcoat  were -no  use  now,  he  pawned 
them  for  pocket-money,  which  was  soon  dissolved. 

Mr.  Robinson  now  was  out  of  spirits. 

"Service  is  not  the  thing  for  me.  I  am  of  an  active  turn — 
I  want  to  go  into  business  that  will  occupy  me  all  day  long — 
business  that  requires  some  head.  Even  his  reverence,  the 
first  man  in  the  country,  acknowledged  my  talents — and  what 
is  the  vent  for  them  here?     The  blacking-bottle." 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

IN  a  low  public  outside  the  town,  in  a  back-room,  with  their 
arms  on  the  table  and  their  low  foreheads  nearly  touch- 
ing, sat  whispering  two  men — types :  one  had  the  deep-sunk 
colourless  eyes,  the  protruding  cheek-bones,  the  shapeless 
mouth,  and  the  broad  chin,  good  in  itself,  but  bad  in  the 
above  connection ;  the  other  had  the  vulpine  chin  and  the 
fiendish  eyebrows  descending  on  the  very  nose  in  two  sharp 
arches.  Both  had  the  restless  eye,  both  the  short-cropped 
hair,  society's  comment,  congruous  and  auxiliary,  though  in 
itself  faint  by  the  side  of  habit's  zeal  and  Nature's. 

A  small  north  window  dimly  lighted  the  gloomy  uncouth 
cabin,  and  revealed  the  sole  furniture :  four  chairs  too  heavy 
to  lift,  too  thick  to  break,  and  a  table  discoloured  with  the 

420 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

stains  of  a  thousand  filthy  debauches  and  dotted  here  and 
there  with  the  fresh  ashes  of  pipes  and  cigars. 

In  this  appropriate  frame  behold  two  felons  putting  their 
heads  together;  by  each  felon's  side  smoked  in  a  glass,  hot 
with  heat  and  hotter  with  alcohol,  the  enemy  of  man.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  give  their  dialogue,  for  they  spoke  in 
thieves'  Latin.  The  substance  was  this : — They  had  scent  of 
a  booty  in  a  house  that  stood  by  itself  three  miles  out  of  the 
town.  But  the  servants  were  incorruptible,  and  they  could 
not  get  access  to  inspect  the  premises,  which  were  intricate. 
Now  your  professional  burglar  will  no  more  venture  upon 
unexplored  premises  than  a  good  seaman  will  run  into  an 
unknown  channel  without  pilot,  soundings,  or  chart.  It  ap- 
peared from  the  dialogue  that  the  two  men  were  acquainted 
with  a  party  who  knew  these  premises,  having  been  more 
than  once  inside  them  with  his  master. 

The  more  rugged  one  objected  to  this  party.  "He  is  no 
use;  he  has  turned  soft.  I  have  heard  him  refuse  a  dozen 
good  plants  the  last  month.  Besides,  I  don't  want  a  canting 
son  of  a  gun  for  my  pal — ten  to  one  if  he  don't  turn  tail  and 
perhaps  split.  N.B.  All  this  not  in  English  but  in  thieves' 
cant,  with  an  oath  or  a  nasty  expression  at  every  third  word, 
the  sentences  measled  with  them. 

"You  don't  know  how  to  take  him,"  replied  he  of  the 
Mephistopheles'  eyebrow.     "He  won't  refuse  me." 

"Why  not  ?" 

"He  is  an  old  pal  of  mine,  and  I  never  found  the  thing  I 
could  not  persuade  him  to.  He  does  not  know  how  to  say 
me  nay.  You  may  bully  him  and  queer  him  till  all  is  blue, 
and  he  won't  budge,  and  that  is  the  lay  you  have  been  upon 
with  him.  Now  I  shall  pull  a  long  face — make  up  a  story — 
take  him  by  his  soft  bit — tell  him  I  can't  get  on  without  him, 
and  patter  old  lang  syne  to  him :  then  we'll  get  a  fiddle  and 
lots  of  whisky;  and  when  we  have  had  a  reel  and  he  has 
shaken  his  foot  on  the  floor,  and  drank  a  gill  or  two,  you 
will  see  him  thaw,  and  then  you  leave  him  to  me  and  don't 
put  in  your  jaw  to  spoil  it.  If  we  get  him,  it  will  be  all  right 
— he  is  No.  i ;  his  little  finger  has  seen  more  than  both  our 
carcasses  put  together." 


k 


421 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

FOUR  days  after  this,  mephistopheles  with  a  small  m  and 
brutiis  with  a  little  b  sat  again  in  the  filthy  little  cabin 
where  men  hatch  burglaries,  but  this  time  the  conference 
wore  an  air  of  expectant  triumph. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"— "You  didn't  do  it  easy." 

"No,  I  had  almost  to  go  on  my  knees  to  him." 

"He  isn't  worth  so  much  trouble." 

"He  is  worth  ten  times  over.  Look  at  this,"  and  the 
speaker  produced  a  plan  of  the  premises  they  were  plotting 
against.  "Could  you  have  done  this?" — "I  don't  say  I 
could." 

"Could  any  man  you  know  have  done  it?  See,  here  is 
every  room  and  every  door  and  window  and  passage  put 
down,  and  what  sort  of  keys  and  bolts  and  fastenings  to 
each." — "How  came  he  to  know  so  much?  he  never  was  in 
the  house  but  twice." 

"A  top-sawyer  like  him  looks  at  everything,  with  an  eye  to 
business :  if  he  was  in  a  church,  he'd  twig  the  candle-sticks 
and  the  fastenings,  while  the  rest  were  mooning  into  the  par- 
son's face — he  can't  help  it." — "Well,  he  may  be  a  top-saw- 
yer, but  I  don't  like  him.  See  how  loth  he  was,  and,  when 
he  did  agree,  how  he  turned  to  and  drank  as  if  he  would 
drown  his  pluck  before  it  could  come  to  anything." 

"Wait  till  you  see  him  work.  He  will  shake  all  that  non- 
sense to  blazes  when  he  finds  himself  out  under  the  moon 
with  the  swag  on  one  side  and  the  gallows  on  the  other." 

To  go  back  a  little :  Mr.  Miles  did  not  return  at  the  ap- 
pointed day,  and  Robinson,  who  had  no  work  to  do,  and 
could  not  amuse  himself  without  money,  pawned  Mr.  Eden's 
ring.  He  felt  ashamed  and  sorrowful,  but  not  so  much  so  as 
at  the  first  time. 

This  evening,  as  he  was  strolling  moodily  through  the  sub- 
urbs, a  voice  hailed  him  in  tones  of  the  utmost  cordiality. 
He  looked  up,  and  there  was  an  old  pal,  with  whom  he  had 
been  associated  in  many  a  merry  bout  and  pleasant  felony; 
he  had  not  seen  the  man  for  two  years ;  a  friendly  glass  was 
offered  and  accepted.     Two  girls  were  of  the  party,  to  oblige 

422 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

whom  Robinson's  old  acquaintance  sent  for  Blind  Bill,  the 
fiddler,  and  soon  Robinson  was  dancing  and  shouting  with 
the  girls  like  mad — "high  cut,"  "side  cut,"  "heel  and  toe," 
"sailor's  fling,"  and  the  "double-shuffle." 

He  did  not  leave  till  three  in  the  morning,  and  after  a 
promise  to  meet  the  same  little  party  again  next  evening,  to 
dance  and  drink  and  drive  away  dull  care. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

ON  a  certain  evening  some  days  later,  the  two  men  whose 
faces   were  definitions  sat  on  a  bench  outside  that 
little  public  in  the  suburbs,  one  at  the  end  of  a  clay  pipe,  the 
other  behind  a  pewter  mug.     It  was  dusk. 

"He  ought  to  be  here  soon,"  said  the  one  into  whose  fore- 
head holes  seemed  dug  and  little  bits  of  some  vitreous  sub- 
stance left  at  the  bottom. — "Well,  mate,"  cried  he  harshly, 
"what  do  you  want  that  you  stick  to  us  so  tight?"  This  was 
addressed  to  a  pedlar  who  had  been  standing  opposite  show- 
ing the  contents  of  his  box  with  a  silent  eloquence. 

Now  this  very  asperity  made  the  portable  shopman  say  to 
himself,  "Wants  me  out  of  the  way — perhaps  buy  me  out." 
So  he  stuck  where  he  was  and  exhibited  his  wares. 

"We  don't  want  your  gimcracks,"  said  mephistopheles 
quietly. 

The  man  eyed  his  customers,  and  did  not  despair.  "But, 
gents,"  said  he,  "I  have  got  other  things  besides  gimcracks ; 
something  that  will  suit  you  if  you  can  read." 

"Of  course  we  can  read,"  replied  sunken-eyes  haughtily ; 
and  in  fact  they  had  been  too  often  in  gaol  to  escape  this 
accomplishment. 

The  pedlar  looked  furtively  in  every  direction,  and  after 
this  precaution  pressed  a  spring  and  brought  a  small  drawer 
out  from  the  bottom  of  his  pack.  The  two  rogues  winked  at 
one  another.  Out  of  the  drawer  the  pedlar  whipped  a  sealed 
packet. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  mephistopheles,  beginning  to  take  an 
interest. — "Just  imported  from  England,"  said  the  pedlar,  a 

423 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

certain  pomp  mingling  with  his  furtive  and  mysterious  man- 
ner. 

" England,"  was  the  other's  patriotic  reply, 

"And  translated  from  the  French." 

"That  is  better!  but  what  is  it?" 

"Them  that  buy  it,  they  will  see !" 

"Something  flash  ?"— "Rather,  I  should  say." 

"Is  there  plenty  about  the  women  in  it?" 

The  trader  answered  obliquely. 

"What  are  we  obliged  to  keep  it  dark  for?"  the  other  put 
in.  'Why,  of  course  there  is." — "Well,"  said  sunken-eyes, 
affecting  carelessness,  "what  do  you  want  for  it?  Got  six- 
pence, Bill?" 

"I  sold  the  last  to  a  gentleman  for  three  and  sixpence.  But 
as  this  is  the  last  I've  got — say  half-a-crown." 

Sunken-eyes  swore  at  the  pedlar.  "What !  half-a-crown 
for  a  book  no  thicker  than  a  quire  of  paper  ?" 

"Only  half-a-crown  for  a  thing  I  could  be  put  in  prison 
for  selling.     Is  not  my  risk  to  be  paid  as  well  as  my  leaves?" 

This  logic  went  home,  and  after  a  little  higgling  two  shill- 
ings were  offered  and  accepted,  but  in  the  very  act  of  com- 
merce the  trader  seemed  to  have  a  misgiving. 

"I  daren't  do  it  unless  you  promise  faithfully  never  to  tell 
you  had  it  of  me.  I  have  got  a  character  to  lose,  and  I 
would  not  have  it  known,  not  for  the  world,  that  James 
Walker  had  sold  such  loose — licentious " 

"Oh,  what,  it  is  very  spicy,  is  it?  Come,  hand  it  over. 
There's  the  two  bob." 

"My  poverty  and  not  my  will  consents,"  sighed  the  trader. 

"There,  you  be  off,  or  we  shall  have  all  the  brats  coming 
round  us." 

The  pedlar  complied  and  moved  off,  and  so  willing  was  he 
to  oblige  his  customers,  that  on  turning  the  corner  he  shoul- 
dered his  pack  and  ran  with  great  agility  down  the  street,  till 
he  gained  a  network  of  small  alleys,  in  which  he  wriggled 
and  left  no  trace. 

Meantime  sunken-eyes  had  put  his  tongue  to  the  envelope 
and  drawn  out  the  contents,  "I'll  go  into  the  light  and  see 
what  it  is  all  about." 

mephistopheles,  left  alone,  had  hardly  given  his  pipe  two 

424 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

sucks  ere  brutus  returned  black  with  rage  and  spouting  oaths 
like  a  whale. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Matter !     Didn't  he  sell  this  to  me  for  a  flash  story  ?" 

"Why,  he  didn't  say  so;  but  certainly  he  dropped  a  word 
about  loose  books." 

"Of  course  he  did."— "Well,  and  ain't  they?" 

"Ain't  they!"  cried  the  other  with  fury.  "Here,  you 
young  shaver,  bring  the  candle  out  here.  Ain't  they?  No, 
they  ain't, and and the .     Look  here!" 

mephisto. — "Mend  your  Ways,"  a  tract. 

brutus. — I'll  break  his  head  instead." 

mephisto. — "Narrative  of  Mr.  James  the  Missionary." 

brutus. — The  cheating,  undermining  rip  ! 

mephisto. — And  here  is  another  to  the  same  tune. 

brutus. — Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  The  hypocritical  humbug- 
ging rascal 

mephisto. — Stop  a  bit.  Here  is  a  little  one :  "Memoirs  of  a 
Gentleman's  Housekeeper." 

brutus. — Oh,  is  there?     I  didn't  see  that. 

mephisto. — You  are  so  hasty.  The  case  mayn't  be  so  black 
as  it  looks.  The  others  might  be  thrown  in  to  make  up  the 
parcel.     Hold  the  candle  nearer. 

brutus. — Ay !  let  us  see  about  the  housekeeper. 

The  two  men  read  "The  Housekeeper"  eagerly,  but  as  they 
read  the  momentary  excitement  of  hope  died  out  of  their 
faces.  Not  a  sparkle  of  the  ore  they  sought ;  all  was  dross. 
"The  Housekeeper"  was  one  of  those  who  made  pickles,  not 
eat  them,  and  in  a  linen  apron  a  yard  wide  save  their  mas- 
ter's money  from  the  fangs  of  cook  and  footman,  not  help 
him  scatter  it  in  a  satin  gown. 

There  was  not  even  a  stray  hint  or  an  indelicate  expression 
for  the  poor  fellow's  two  shillings.  The  fraud  was  complete. 
It  was  not  like  the  ground  coffee,  pepper,  and  mustard  in  a 
London  shop,  in  which  there  is  as  often  as  not  a  pinch  of  real 
coffee,  mustard,  and  pepper  to  a  pound  of  chicory  and  bul- 
lock's blood,  of  red-lead,  dirt,  flour,  and  turmeric.  Here  the 
"do"  was  pure. 

Then  brutus  relieved  his  swelling  heart  by  a  string  of  ob- 
servations partly  rhetorical,   partly   zoological.     He   devoted 

425 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

to  horrible  plagues  every  square  inch  of  the  pedlar,  enumer- 
ating particularly  those  interior  organs  that  subserve  vitality, 
and  concluded  by  vowing  solemnly  to  put  a  knife  into  him 

the  first  fair  opportunity.     'T'll  teach  the  rogue  to "     Sell 

you  medicine  for  poison,  eh? 

mephistopheles,  either  because  he  was  a  more  philosophic 
spirit  or  was  not  the  one  out  of  pocket,  took  the  blow  more 
coolly.  "It  is  a  bite  and  no  mistake.  But  what  of  it?  Our 
money,"  said  he  with  a  touch  of  sadness,  "goes  as  it  comes. 
This  is  only  two  bob  flung  in  the  dirt.  We  should  not  have 
invested  them  in  the  Three  per  Cents,  and  to-night's  swag 
will  make  it  up." 

He  then  got  a  fresh  wafer  and  sealed  the  pamphlets  up 
again.  "There,"  said  he,  "you  keep  dark,  and  sell  the  first 
flat  you  come  across  the  same  way  the  varmint  sold  you." 

brutus,  sickened  at  heart  by  the  pedlar's  iniquity,  revived 
at  the  prospect  of  selling  some  fellow-creature  as  he  had  been 
sold.  He  put  the  paper-trap  in  his  pocket;  and,  cheated  of 
obscenity,  consoled  himself  with  brandy  such  as  Bacchus 
would  not  own,  but  Beelzebub  would  brew  for  man  if  per- 
mitted to  keep  an  earthly  distillery.  Presently  they  were 
joined  by  the  third  man,  and  for  two  hours  the  three  heads 
might  all  have  been  covered  by  one  bushel-basket,  and  pedlar 
Walker's  heartless  fraud  was  forgotten  in  business  of  a  high- 
er order. 

At  last  mephistopheles  gave  brutus  a  signal,  and  they  rose 
to  interrupt  the  potations  of  the  new-comer,  who  was  pouring 
down  fire  and  hot  water  in  rather  a  reckless  way. 

"We  won't  all  go  together,"  said  mephistopheles.  "You 
two  meet  me  at  Jonathan's  ken  in  an  hour." 

As  brutus  and  the  new-comer  walked  along,  an  idea  came 
to  brutus.  "Here  is  a  fellow  that  passes  for  a  sharp.  What 
if  I  sell  him  my  pamphlets  and  get  a  laugh  at  his  expense? 
Mate,"  said  he,  "here  is  a  flash  book  all  sealed  up.  What 
will  you  give  me  for  it?" 

"Well,  I  don't  much  care  for  that  sort  of  reading,  old 
fellow." 

"But  this  Is  cheap.  I  got  it  a  bargain.  Come,  a  shilling 
won't  hurt  you  for  it.  See,  there  is  more  than  one  under 
the  cover." 

426 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Now  the  other  had  been  drinking  till  he  was  in  that  state 
in  which  a  good-natured  fellow's  mind  if  decomposed  would 
be  found  to  be  all  "Yes,"  and  "Dine  with  me  to-morrow,"  so 
he  fell  at  once  into  the  trap. 

"I'll  give  it  you,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "Let  us  see  it.  There 
are  more  than  one  inside  it.  You're  an  honest  fellow.  Owe 
you  a  shilling."  And  the  sealed  parcel  went  into  his  pocket. 
Then  seeing  brutus  look  rather  rueful  at  this  way  of  doing 
business,  he  hiccoughed  out,  "Stop  your  bob  out  of  the 
swag" — and  chuckled. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

A  SNOW-WHITE  suburban  villa  standing  alone  with 
its  satellites,  that  occupied  five  times  as  much  space 
as  itself,  coach-house,  stable,  offices,  green-house  clinging  to 
it  like  dew  to  a  lily,  and  hot-house  farther  in  the  rear.  A 
wall  of  considerable  height  enclosed  the  whole.  It  looked  as 
secure  and  peaceful  as  innocent  in  the  fleeting  light  the  young 
moon  cast  on  it  every  time  the  passing  clouds  left  her  clear  a 
moment.  Yet  at  this  calm  thoughtful  hour  crime  was  wait- 
ing to  invade  this  pretty  little  place. 

Under  the  scullery-window  lurked  brutus  and  mephis- 
topheles,  faces  blackened,  tools  in  hand,  ready  to  whip  out  a 
pane  of  said  window  and  so  penetrate  the  kitchen,  and  from 
the  kitchen  the  pantry,  where  they  made  sure  of  a  few  spoons, 
and  up  the  back-stairs  to  the  plate-chest.  They  would  be  in 
the  house  even  now,  but  a  circumstance  delayed  them — a 
light  was  burning  on  the  second  floor.  Now  it  was  contrary 
to  their  creed  to  enter  a  house  where  a  light  was  burning, 
above  all,  if  there  was  the  least  chance  of  that  light  being  in  a 
sitting-room.  Now  they  had  been  some  hours  watching  the 
house  and  that  light  had  been  there  all  the  time,  therefore 
argued  mephistopheles,  "It  is  not  a  farthing  glim  in  a  bed- 
room, or  we  should  have  seen  it  lighted.  It  is  some  one  up. 
We  must  wait  till  they  roost." 

They  waited  and  waited  and  waited.  Still  the  light  burned. 
They  cursed  the  light.  No  wonder.  Light  seems  the  nat- 
ural enemy  of  evil  deeds.     They  began  to  get  bitter,  and 

427 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

their  bodies  cold.  Even  burglary  becomes  a  bore  when  you 
have  to  wait  too  long  idle  out  in  the  cold. 

At  last,  at  about  half-past  two,  the  light  went  out;  then 
keenly  listening,  the  two  sons  of  darkness  heard  a  movement 
in  the  house,  and  more  than  one  door  open  and  shut,  and  then 
the  sound  of  feet  going  rapidly  down  the  road  towards 
Sydney. 

"Why,  it  is  a  party  only  just  broke  up.  Lucky  I  would 
not  work  till  the  glim  was  out." — "But  I  say.  Bill,  he  is  at 
that  corner — the  nobs  must  have  passed  close  to  him — sup- 
pose they  saw  him." 

"He  is  not  so  green  as  let  them  see  him." 

The  next  question  was  how  long  they  should  wait  to  let 
the  inmates  close  their  peepers.  All  had  been  still  and  dark 
more  than  half  an  hour  when  the  pair  began  to  work, 
mephisto  took  out  a  large  piece  of  putty  and  dabbed  it  on  the 
middle  of  the  pane;  this  putty  he  worked  in  the  centre  up  to 
a  pyramid ;  this  he  held  with  his  left  hand,  while  with  his 
right  he  took  out  his  glazier's  diamond  and  cut  the  pane  all 
round  the  edges.  By  the  hold  the  putty  gave  him,  he  pre- 
vented the  pane  from  falling  inside  the  house  and  making  a 
noise,  and  finally  whipped  it  out  clean  and  handed  it  to  bru- 
tus.  A  moment  more  the  two  men  were  in  the  scullery, 
thence  into  the  kitchen  through  a  door  which  they  found 
open ;  in  the  kitchen  were  two  doors — trying  one,  they  found 
it  open  into  a  larder.  Here  casting  the  light  of  his  dark  lan- 
tern round,  brutus  discovered  some  cold  fowl  and  a  ham; 
they  took  these  into  the  kitchen,  and  somewhat  coolly  took 
out  their  knives  and  ate  a  hasty  but  hearty  supper.  Their 
way  of  hacking  the  ham  was  as  lawless  as  all  the  rest.  They 
then  took  ofif  their  shoes  and  dropped  them  outside  the  scull- 
ery window,  and  now  the  serious  part  of  the  game  began. 
Creeping  like  cats,  they  reached  the  pantry,  and  sure  enough 
found  more  than  a  dozen  silver  spoons  and  forks  of  different 
sizes  that  had  been  recently  used.  These  they  put  into  a 
small  bag,  and  mephisto  went  back  through  the  scullery  into 
the  back-garden,  and  hid  these  spoons  in  a  bush. 

"Then  if  we  should  be  interrupted  we  can  come  back  for 
them." 

And  now  the  game  became  more  serious  and  more  nerv- 

428 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ous;  the  pair  drew  their  clasp-knives  and  placed  them  in 
their  bosoms  ready  in  case  of  extremity ;  then  creeping  like 
cats,  one  foot  at  a  time  and  then  a  pause,  ascended  the  back- 
stairs, at  the  top  of  which  was  a  door.  But  this  door 
was  not  fastened,  and  in  another  moment  they  passed  through 
it  and  were  on  the  first  landing.  The  plan,  correct  in  every 
particular,  indicated  the  plate-closet  to  their  right :  a  gleam 
from  the  lantern  showed  it ;  the  keyhole  was  old-fashioned, 
as  also  described,  and  in  a  moment  brutus  had  it  open.  Then 
mephisto  whipped  out  a  green  baize  bag  with  compartments, 
and  in  a  minute  these  adroit  hands  had  stowed  away  cups, 
tureens,  baskets,  soup-spoons,  &c.,  to  the  value  of  three  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  scarce  a  chink  heard  during  the  whole  oper- 
ation. It  was  done ;  a  look  passed  as  much  as  to  say  this  is 
enough,  and  they  crept  back  silent  and  cat-like  as  they  had 
come,  brutus  leading  with  the  bag.  Now  just  as  he  had  his 
hand  on  the  door  through  which  they  had  come  up — snick ! 
click ! — a  door  was  locked  somewhere  down  below. 

brutus  looked  round  and  put  the  bag  gently  down. 
"Where  ?"  he  whispered. — "Near  the  kitchen,"  was  the  reply, 
scarcely  audible. 

"Sounded  to  me  to  come  from  the  hall,"  whispered  the 
other. 

Both  men  changed  colour,  but  retained  their  presence  of 
mind  and  their  cunning,  brutus  stepped  back  to  the  plate- 
closet,  put  the  bag  in  it,  and  closed  it,  but  without  locking  it. 
"Stay  there,"  whispered  he,  "and  if  I  whistle,  run  out  the 
back  way  empty-handed.  If  I  mew,  out  with  the  bag  and 
come  out  by  the  front  door;  nothing  but  inside  bolts  to  it, 
plan  says." 

They  listened  a  moment,  there  was  no  fresh  sound.  Then 
brutus  slipped  down  the  front-stairs  in  no  time ;  he  found  the 
front-door  not  bolted ;  he  did  not  quite  understand  that,  and 
drawing  a  short  bludgeon,  he  opened  it  very  cautiously ;  the 
caution  was  not  superfluous  :  two  gentlemen  made  a  dash  at 
him  from  the  outside  the  moment  the  door  was  open ;  one  of 
their  heads  cracked  like  a  broken  bottle  under  the  blow  the 
ready  ruffian  struck  him  with  his  bludgeon,  and  he  dropped 
like  a  shot;  but  another  was  coming  flying  across  the  lawn 
with    a    drawn    cutlass,    and    brutus    finding    himself    over- 

429 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

matched,  gave  one  loud  whistle  and  flew  across  the  hall, 
makmg  for  the  kitchen.  Flew  he  never  so  fast,  mephisto  was 
there  an  instant  before  him.  As  for  the  gentleman  at  the 
door,  he  was  encumbered  with  his  hurt  companion,  who  fell 
across  his  knees  as  he  rushed  at  the  burglar,  brutus  got  a 
start  of  some  seconds  and  dashed  furiously  into  the  kitchen, 
and  flew  to  the  only  door  between  them  and  the  scullery- 
window.     The  door  was  locked. 

The  burglar's  eyes  gleamed  in  their  deep  caverns,  "Back, 
Will,  and  cut  through  them,"  he  cried,  and  out  flashed  his 
long  bright  knife. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

WHILE  the  two  burglars  were  near  the  scullery-window, 
watching  the  light  in  the  upper  story,  a  third  man 
stood  sentinel  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house ;  he  was  but  a 
few  yards  from  the  public  road,  yet  hundreds  would  have 
passed  and  no  man  seen  him,  for  he  had  placed  himself  in  a 
thick  shadow  flat  against  the  garden-wall.  His  office  was  to 
signal  danger  from  his  side  should  any  come.  Now  the  light 
that  kept  his  comrades  inactive  was  not  on  his  side  of  the 
house ;  he  waited,  therefore,  expecting  every  moment  their 
signal  that  the  job  was  done.  On  this  the  cue  was  to  slip 
quietly  off,  and  all  make  by  different  paths  for  the  low  public- 
house  described  above,  and  there  divide  the  swag. 

The  man  waited  and  waited  and  waited  for  this  signal ;  it 
never  came — we  know  why.  Then  he  became  impatient — 
miserable ;  he  was  out  of  his  element — wanted  to  be  doing 
something.  At  last  all  this  was  an  intolerable  bore.  Not 
feeling  warm  towards  the  job,  he  had  given  the  active  busi- 
ness to  his  comrades,  which  he  now  regretted  for  two  reasons : 
first,  he  was  kept  here  stagnant  and  bored ;  and  second,  they 
must  be  a  pair  of  bunglers ;  he'd  have  robbed  a  parish  in  less 
time.  He  would  light  a  cigar.  Tobacco  blunts  all  ills,  even 
ennui.  Putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket  for  a  cigar,  it  ran 
against  a  hard  square  substance.  What  is  this  ? — oh !  the 
book  mephisto  had  sold  him.  No,  he  would  not  smoke ;  he 
would  see  what  the  book  was  all  about.    He  knelt  down  and 

430 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

took  off  his  hat,  and  put  his  dark-lantern  inside  it  before  he 
ventured  to  move  the  slide ;  then  undid  the  paper,  and  putting 
it  into  the  hat,  threw  the  concentrated  rays  on  the  contents, 
and  peered  in  to  examine  them.  Now,  the  various  little 
pamphlets  had  been  displayed  by  mephisto,  and  the  first  words 
that  met  the  thief's  eye  in  large  letters  on  the  back  of  a  tract 
were  these,  "The  Wages  of  Sin  are  Death/' 

Thomas  Robinson  looked  at  these  words  with  a  stupid 
gaze.  At  first  he  did  not  realise  all  that  lay  in  them.  He  did 
not  open  the  tract ;  he  gazed  benumbed  at  the  words,  and  they 
glared  at  him  like  the  eyes  of  green  fire  when  we  come  in  the 
dark  on  some  tiger-cat  crouching  in  his  lair. 

Oh,  that  I  were  a  painter  and  could  make  you  see  what 
cannot  be  described — the  features  of  this  strange  incident  that 
sounds  so  small  and  was  so  great !  The  black  night,  the  hat, 
the  renegade  peering  under  it  in  the  wall's  deep  shadows  to 
read  something  trashy,  and  the  half-open  lantern  shooting  its 
little  strip  of  intense  fire,  and  the  grim  words  springing  out  in 
a  moment  from  the  dark  face  of  night  and  dazzling  the  rene- 
gade's eyes  and  chilling  his  heart : 

"the  wages  of  sin  are  death." 

To  his  stupor  now  succeeded  surprise  and  awe.     "How 

comes  this?"  he  whispered  aloud;  "was  this  a  trick  of 's? 

No !  he  doesn't  know.  This  is  the  devil's  own  doing — no ! 
it  is  not — more  likely  it  is — The  third  time ! — I'll  read  it :  my 
hands  shake  so  I  can  hardly  hold  it.  It  is  by  him — yes — 
signed  F.  E.  Heaven  have  mercy  on  me !  this  is  more  than 
natural." 

He  read  it,  shaking  all  over  as  he  read.  The  tract  was 
simply  written.  It  began  with  a  story  of  instances,  some  of 
them  drawn  from  the  histories  of  prisoners,  and  it  ended  with 
an  earnest  exhortation  and  a  terrible  warning.  When  the 
renegade  came  to  this  part,  his  heart  beat  violently ;  for  along 
with  the  earnest  straightforward  unmincing  words  of  sacred 
fire  there  seemed  to  rise  from  the  paper  the  eloquent  voice, 
the  eye  rich  with  love,  the  face  of  inexhaustible  intelligence 
and  sympathy  that  had  so  often  shone  on  Robinson,  while 
just  words  such  as  these  issued  from  those  golden  lips. 

He  read  on,  but  not  to  the  end ;  for  as  he  read  he  came  to 

431 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

one  paragraph  that  made  him  fancy  that  Mr.  Eden  was  by  his 
very  side.  "You,  into  whose  hands  these  words  of  truth 
shall  fall,  and  find  you  intending  to  do  some  foolish  or  wicked 
thing  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  to-day,  or  this  very  hour 
— stop ! — do  not  that  sin !  on  your  soul  do  it  not ! — fall  on  your 
knees  and  repent  the  sin  you  have  meditated ;  better  repent 
the  base  design  than  suffer  for  the  sin,  as  suffer  you  shall  so 
surely  as  the  sky  is  pure,  so  surely  as  God  is  holy  and  sin's 
wages  are  death." 

At  these  words,  as  if  the  priest's  hand  had  been  stretched 
across  the  earth  and  sea  and  laid  on  the  thief's  head,  he  fell 
down  upon  his  knees  with  his  back  towards  the  scene  of 
burglary  and  his  face  towards  England,  crying  out,  "I  will, 
your  reverence.  I  am! — Lord  help  me!"  cried  he,  then  first 
remembering  how  he  had  been  told  to  pray  in  temptation's 
hour.  The  next  moment  he  started  to  his  feet,  he  dashed  his 
lantern  to  the  ground,  and  leaped  over  a  gate  that  stood  in 
his  way,  and  fled  down  the  road  to  Sydney. 

He  ran  full  half  a  mile  before  he  stopped ;  his  mind  was  in 
a  whirl.  Another  reflection  stopped  him :  he  was  a  sentinel, 
and  had  betrayed  his  post ;  suppose  his  pals  were  to  get  into 
trouble  through  reckoning  on  him ;  was  it  fair  to  desert  them 
without  warning?  What  if  he  were  to  go  back  and  give  the 
whistle  of  alarm,  pretend  he  had  seen  some  one  watching,  and 
so  prevent  the  meditated  crime,  as  well  as  be  guiltless  of  it 
himself;  but  then,  thought  he,  "And  suppose  I  do  go  back, 
what  will  become  of  me?" 

While  he  hesitated,  the  question  was  decided  for  him.  As 
he  looked  back  irresolute,  his  keen  eye  noticed  a  shadow 
moving  along  the  hedge-side  to  his  left. 

"Why,  they  are  coming  away,"  was  his  first  thought;  but 
looking  keenly  down  the  other  hedge,  which  was  darker  still, 
he  saw  another  noiseless  moving  shadow.  "Why  are  they  on 
different  sides  of  the  road,  and  both  keeping  in  the  shadow?" 
thought  this  shrewd  spirit,  and  he  liked  it  so  ill  that  he  turned 
at  once  and  ran  off  towards  Sydney. 

At  this  out  came  the  two  figures  with  a  bound  into  the 
middle  of  the  road,  and  with  a  loud  view-halloo,  raced  after 
him  like  the  wind. 

Robinson,  as  he  started,  and  before  he  knew  the  speed  of 

432 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

his  pursuers,  ventured  to  run  sideways  a  moment  to  see  who 
or  what  they  were.  He  caught  a  ghmpse  of  white  waist- 
coats and  glittering  studs,  and  guessed  the  rest. 

He  had  a  start  of  not  more  than  twenty  yards,  but  he  was 
a  good  runner,  and  it  was  in  his  favour  that  his  pursuers  had 
come  up  at  a  certain  speed,  while  he  started  fresh  after  a  rest. 
He  squared  his  shoulders,  opened  his  mouth  wide  for  a  long 
race,  and  ran  as  men  run  for  their  lives. 

In  the  silent  night  Robinson's  high-lows  might  have  been 
heard  half  a  mile  off,  clattering  along  the  hard  road.  Pit-pit, 
pit-pat !  came  two  pair  of  dress-boots  after  him.  Robinson 
heard  the  sound  with  a  thrill  of  fear ;  "They  in  their  pumps 
and  I  in  boots,"  thought  he,  and  his  pursuers  heard  the  hunt- 
ed one  groan,  and  redoubled  their  efforts  as  dogs  when  the 
stag  begins  to  sob. 

He  had  scarce  run  a  hundred  yards,  with  his  ears  laid  back 
like  a  hare's,  when  he  could  not  help  thinking  the  horrible 
pit  pit  pit  got  nearer;  he  listened  with  agonised  keenness  as 
he  ran,  and  so  fine  did  his  danger  make  his  ear  that  he  could 
fell  the  exact  position  of  his  pursuers.  A  cold  sweat  crept 
over  him  as  he  felt  they  had  both  gained  ten  yards  out  of  the 
twenty  on  him ;  then  he  distinctly  felt  one  pursuer  gain  upon 
the  other,  and  this  one's  pit  pit  pit  crept  nearer  and  nearer,  an 
inch  every  three  or  four  yards ;  the  other  held  his  own — no 
more — no  less. 

At  last  so  near  crept  No.  i.  that  Robinson  felt  his  hot 
breath  at  his  ear.  He  clenched  his  teeth  and  gave  a  desper- 
ate'spurt,  and  put  four  or  five  yards  between  them ;  he  could 
have  measured  the  ground  gained  by  the  pit  pit  pat.  But 
the  pursuer  put  on  a  spurt,  and  reduced  the  distance  by 
half. 

'T  may  as  well  give  in,"  thought  the  hunted  one — but  at 
that  moment  came  a  gleam  of  hope ;  this  pursuer  began  sud- 
denly to  pant  very  loud.  He  had  clenched  his  teeth  to  gain 
the  twenty  yards ;  he  had  gained  them  but  had  lost  his  wind. 
Robinson  heard  this,  and  feared  him  no  longer,  and  in  fact 
after  one  or  two  more  puffs  came  one  despairing  snort,  and 
No.   I  pulled  itp  dead  short,  thoroughly  blown. 

As  No.  2  passed  him,  he  just  panted  out  "Won't  catch 
him." 

'*  433 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Won't  I !"  ejaculated  No.  2,  expelling  the  words  rather 
than  uttering  them. 

Klopetee  klop,  klopetee  klop,  klopetee,  klopetee,  klopetee 
klop. 

Pit  pat,  pit  pat,  pit  pat  pat,  pit  pit  pat.  Ten  yards  apart, 
no  more  no  less. 

"Nor  nearer  might  the  dog  attain, 
Nor   farther  might  the  quarry  strain." 

"They  have  done  me  between  them,"  thought  poor  Robin- 
son. 'T  could  have  run  from  either  singly,  but  one  blows 
me,  and  then  the  other  runs  me  down.  I  can  get  out  of  it 
by  fighting,  perhaps,  but  then  there  will  be  another  crime." 

Robinson  now  began  to  pant  audibly,  and  finding  he  coul'd 
not  shake  the  hunter  off,  he  with  some  reluctance  prepared 
another  game. 

He  began  to  exaggerate  his  symptoms  of  distress,  and  im- 
perceptibly to  relax  his  pace.  On  this  the  pursuer  came  up 
hand  over  head.  He  was  scarce  four  yards  behind,  when 
Robinson  suddenly  turned  and  threw  himself  on  one  knee, 
with  both  hands  out  like  a  cat's  claws.  The  man  ran  on  full 
tilt ;  in  fact,  he  could  not  have  stopped.  Robinson  caught  his 
nearest  ankle  with  both  hands,  and  rose  with  him,  and  lifted 
him,  aided  by  his  own  impulse,  high  into  the  air  and  sent  his 
heels  up  perpendicular.  The  man  described  a  parabola  in  the 
air,  and  came  down  on  the  very  top  of  his  head  with  fright- 
ful force ;  and  as  he  lay  his  head  buried  in  his  hat  and  his 
heels  kicking,  Robinson  without  a  moment  lost  jumped  over 
his  body,  and  klopetee  klop  rang  fainter  and  fainter  down 
the  road  alone. 

The  plucky  pursuer  wrenched  his  head  with  infinite  diffi- 
culty out  of  his  hat,  which  sat  on  his  shoulders  with  his  nose 
pointing  through  a  chasm  from  crown  to  brim,  shook  him- 
self, and  ran  wildly  a  few  yards  in  pursuit — but  finding  he 
had  in  his  confusion  run  away  from  Robinson  as  well  as 
Robinson  from  him,  and  hopeless  of  recovering  the  ground 
now  lost,  he  gave  a  rueful  sort  of  laugh,  made  the  best  of  it, 
put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  strolled  back  to  meet  No.  i. 

Meantime,  Robinson,  fearful  of  being  pursued  on  horse- 
back, relaxed  his  speed  but  little,  and  ran  the  three  miles  out 

434 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

into  Sydney.  He  came  home  with  his  flank  beating  and  a 
glutinous  moisture  on  his  lip,  and  a  hunted  look  in  his  eye. 
He  crept  into  bed,  but  spent  the  night  thinking,  ay,  and  pray- 
ing too,  not  sleeping. 


CHAPTER    L. 

THOMAS  ROBINSON  rose  from  his  sleepless  bed  an 
altered  man — altered  above  all  in  this,  that  his  self- 
confidence  was  clean  gone.  "How  little  I  knew  myself,"  said 
he,  "and  how  well  his  reverence  knew  me !  I  am  the  weak- 
est fool  on  earth — he  saw  that  and  told  me  what  to  do.  He 
provided  help  for  me,  and  I,  like  an  ungrateful  idiot,  never 
once  thought  of  obeying  him ;  but  from  this  hour  I  see  my- 
self as  I  am  and  as  he  used  to  call  me — a  clever  fool.  I  can't 
walk  straight  without  some  honest  man  to  hold  by.  Well, 
I'll  have  one,  though  I  give  up  everything  else  in  the  world 
for  it." 

Then  he  went  to  his  little  box  and  took  out  the  letter  to 
George  Fielding.  He  looked  at  it  and  reproached  himself 
for  forgetting  it  so  long.  "A  letter  from  the  poor  fellow's 
sweetheart  too.  I  ought  to  have  sent  it  by  the  post,  if  I  did 
not  take  it.  But  I  will  take  it.  I'll  ask  Mr.  Miles's  leave 
the  moment  he  comes  home,  and  start  that  very  day."  Then 
he  sat  down  and  read  the  tract  again,  and  as  he  read  it  was 
filled  with  shame  and  contrition. 

By  one  of  those  freaks  of  mind  which  it  is  so  hard  to  ac- 
count  for,   every  good   feeling  rushed  upon   him   with   far 

greater  power  than  when  he  was  in Prison,  and  strange 

to  say  he  now  loved  his  reverence  more  and  took  his  words 
deeper  to  heart  than  he  had  done  when  they  were  together. 
His  flesh  crept  with  horror  at  the  thought  that  he  had  been 
a  criminal  again,  at  least  in  intention,  and  that  but  for  Heav- 
en's mercy  he  would  have  been  taken  and  punished  with 
frightful  severity;  and.  above  all.  would  have  wounded  his 
reverence  to  the  heart  in  return  far  more  than  mortal  kind- 
ness, goodness,  and  love.  And,  to  do  Robinson  justice,  this 
last  thought  made  his  heart  sicken  and  his  flesh  creep  more 
than  all  the  rest.     He  was  like  a  man  who  had  fallen  asleep 

435 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

on  the  brink   of  an   unseen   precipice — awoke — and  looked 
down. 

The  penitent  man  said  his  prayers  this  morning,  and  vowed 
on  his  knees  humihty  and  a  new  life.  Henceforth  he  would 
know  himself;  he  would  not  attempt  to  guide  himself;  he 
would  just  obey  his  reverence :  and  to  begin,  whenever  a 
temptation  came  in  sight,  he  would  pray  against  it  then  and 
there,  and  fly  from  it,  and  the  moment  his  master  returned, 
he  would  leave  the  town  and  get  away  to  honest  George 
Fielding  with  his  passport — Susan's  letter. 

With  these  prayers  and  these  resolutions  a  calm  compla- 
cency stole  over  him ;  he  put  his  reverence's  tract  and 
George's  letter  in  his  bosom  and  came  down  into  the  kitchen. 

The  first  person  he  met  was  the  housemaid  Jenny.  "Oh, 
here  is  my  lord!"  cried  she.     "Where  were  you  last  night?" 

Robinson  stammered  out,  "Nowhere  in  particular.   Why?" 

"Oh,  because  the  master  was  asking  for  you,  and  you 
weren't  to  be  found  high  or  low." 

"What,  is  he  come  home?" — "Came  home  last  night." 

"I'll  go  and  take  him  his  hot  water." 

"Why,  he  is  not  in  the  house,  stupid.  He  dressed  the  mo- 
ment he  came  home  and  went  out  to  a  party.  He  swore 
properly  at  your  not  being  in  the  way  to  help  him  dress." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Robinson  a  little  uneasy. 

The  girl's  eyes  twinkled.  "He  said,  'How  ever  am  I  to 
lace  myself  now  that  scamp  is  not  in  the  way  ?'  " 

"Come,  none  of  your  chaff,  Jenny." 

"Why,  you  know  you  do  lace  him,  and  pretty  tight  too." 

"I  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Oh,  of  course  you  won't  tell  on  one  another.  Tell  me 
our  head  scamp  does  not  wear  stays !  A  man  would  not  be 
as  broad  shouldered  as  that  and  have  a  waist  like  a  wasp  and 
his  back  like  a  board  without  a  little  lacing,  and  a  good  deal 
too." 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Jenny.  Won't  you  give  me 
a  morsel  of  breakfast?" — "Well,  Tom,  I  can  give  you  some 
just  for  form's  sake;  but,  bless  you,  you  won't  be  able  to 
eat  it." 

"Why  not?" — "Gents  that  are  out  all  night  bring  a  head- 
ache home  in  the  morning  in  place  of  an  appetite." 

436 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"But  I  was  not  out  all  night.  I  was  at  home  soon  after 
twelve." 

"Really?"— "Really!" 

"Tom !"— "Well,  Jane  !" 

"Those  that  ain't  clever  enough  to  hide  secrets  should  trust 
them  to  those  that  are." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  my  lass." 

"Oh,  nothing;  only  I  sat  up  till  half-past  one  in  the 
kitchen,  and  I  listened  till  three  in  my  room." 

"You  took  a  deal  of  trouble  on  my  account." 

"Oh,  it  was  more  curiosity  than  regard,"  was  the  keen 
reply. 

"So  I  should  say." 

The  girl  coloured  and  seemed  nettled  by  this  answer.  She 
set  demurely  about  the  work  of  small  vengeance.  "Now," 
said  she  with  great  cordiality,  "you  tell  me  what  you  were 
doing  all  night,  and  why  you  broke  into  the  house  like  a — a 
— hem !  instead  of  coming  into  it  like  a  man,  and  then  you'll 
save  me  the  trouble  of  finding  it  out  whether  you  like  or  not." 
These  words  chilled  Robinson.  What!  had  a  spy  been 
watching  him — perhaps  for  days — and  above  all  a  female 
spy — a  thing  with  a  velvet  paw,  a  noiseless  step,  an  inscrut- 
able countenance,  and  a  microscopic  eye  ? 

He  hung  his  head  over  his  cup  in  silence.  Jenny's  eye  was 
scanning  him.  He  felt  that  without  seeing  it.  He  was  un- 
easy under  it,  but  his  self-reproach  was  greater  than  his  un- 
easiness. 

At  this  juncture  the  street-door  was  opened  with  a  latch- 
key. "Here  comes  the  head-scamp,"  said  Jenny  with  her  eye 
on  Robinson.  The  next  moment  a  bell  was  rung  sharply. 
Robinson  rose. 

"Finish  your  breakfast,"  said  Jenny ;  "I'll  answer  the  bell," 
and  out  she  went.  She  returned  in  about  ten  minutes  with  a 
dressing-gown  over  her  arm  and  a  pair  of  curling  irons  in  her 
hand.  "There,"  said  she,  "you  are  to  go  in  the  parlour,  and 
get  up  the  young  buck ;  curl  his  nob  and  whiskers.  I  wish  it 
was  me ;  I'd  curl  his  ear  the  first  thing  I'd  curl." 

"What,  Jane,  did  you  take  the  trouble  to  bring  them  down 
for  me?" — "They  look  like  it,"  replied  the  other  tartly,  as  if 
she  repented  the  good  office. 

437 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Robinson  went  in  to  his  master.  He  expected  a  rebuke  for 
being  out  of  the  way ;  but  no !  he  found  the  young  gentleman 
in  excellent  humour  and  high  spirits. 

"Help  me  off  with  this  coat,  Tom."— "Yes,  sir." 

"Oh,  not  so  rough,  confound  you.     Ah  !  ugh !" 

"Coat's  a  little  too  tight,  sir !" 

"No,  it  isn't — it  fits  me  like  a  glove ;  but  I  am  stiff  and 
sore.     There,  now,  get  me  a  shirt." 

Robinson  came  back  with  the  shirt,  and  aired  it  close  to 
the  fire ;  and  this  being  a  favourable  position  for  saying  what 
he  felt  awkward  about,  he  began. 

"Mr.  Miles,  sir."— "Hallo !" 

"I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  favour." — "Out  with  it !" 

"You  have  been  a  kind  master  to  me." 

"I  should  think  I  have,  too.  By  Jove,  you  won't  find  such 
another  in  a  hurry." 

"No,  sir,  I  am  sure  I  should  not,  but  there  is  an  opening 
for  me  of  a  different  sort  altogether.  I  have  a  friend,  a 
squatter,  near  Bathurst,  and  I  am  to  join  him  if  you  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  let  me  go." — "What  an  infernal  nuisance!" 
cried  the  young  gentleman,  who  was,  like  most  boys,  good- 
natured  and  selfish.  "The  moment  I  get  a  servant  I  like,  he 
wants  to  go  to  the  devil." 

"Only  to  Bathurst,  sir,"  said  Robinson  deprecatingly,  to 
put  him  in  a  good-humour. — "And  what  am  I  to  do  for  an- 
other?" 

At  this  moment  in  came  Jenny  with  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  breakfast.  "Here,  Jenny,"  cried  he,  "here's  Robinson 
wants  to  leave  us.     Stupid  ass !" 

Jenny  stood  transfixed  with  the  tray  in  her  hand.  "Since 
when?"  asked  she  of  her  master,  but  looking  at  Robin- 
son. 

"This  moment.  The  faithful  creature  greeted  my  return 
with  that  proposal." 

"Well,  sir,  a  servant  isn't  a  slave,  and  I  suppose  he  has  a 
reason?" — "Oh!  they  have  always  got  a  reason,  such  as  it  is. 
Wants  to  go  and  squat  at  Bathurst.  Well,  Tom,  you  are  a 
fool  for  leaving  us,  but  of  course  we  shan't  pay  you  the  com- 
pliment of  keeping  you  against  your  will,  shall  we?"  looking 
at  Jane. 

438 


I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  it?"  replied  she,  opening  her  grey 
eyes.     "What  is  it  to  me  whether  he  goes  or  stays  ?" 

"Come,  I  Hke  that.  Why,  you  are  the  housemaid  and  he  is 
the  footman,  and  those  two,  we  know,  are  always" — and  the 
young  gentleman  eked  out  his  meaning  by  whistling  a 
tune. 

"Mr.  Miles,"  said  Jenny  very  gravely,  like  an  elder  rebuk- 
ing a  younger,  "you  must  excuse  me,  sir,  but  I  advise  you 
not  to  make  so  free  with  your  servants.  Servants  are  en- 
croaching, and  they  will  be  sure  to  take  liberties  with  you  in 
turn ;  and,"  turning  suddenly  red  and  angry,  "if  you  talk  like 
that  to  me,  I  shall  leave  the  room." 

"Well,  if  you  must,  you  must ;  but  bring  the  tea-kettle 
back  with  you.     That  is  a  duck !" 

Jenny  could  not  help  laughing,  and  went  for  the  tea-kettle. 
On  her  return  Robinson  made  signals  to  her  over  her  master's 
head,  which  he  had  begun  to  frizz.  At  first  she  looked 
puzzled,  but  following  the  direction  of  his  eye,  she  saw  that 
her  master's  right  hand  was  terribly  cut  and  swollen.  "Oh !" 
cried  the  girl.     "Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !" 

"Eh?"  cried  Mr.  Miles,  "what  is  the  row?" 

"Look  at  your  poor  hand,  sir !" 

"Oh,  ay !  isn't  it  hideous.  Met  with  an  accident.  Soon 
get  well." — "No,  it  won't,  not  of  itself ;  but  I  have  got  a  cap- 
ital lotion  for  bruises,  and  I  shall  bathe  it  for  you." 

Jenny  brought  in  a  large  basin  of  warm  water,  and  began 
to  foment  it  first,  touching  it  so  tenderly.  "And  his  hand, 
that  was  as  white  as  a  lady's,"  said  Jenny  pitifully,  "po-o-r 
bo-y !"  This  kind  expression  had  no  sooner  escaped  her  than 
she  coloured  and  bent  her  head  down  over  her  work,  hoping 
it  might  escape  notice. 

"Young  woman,"  said  Mr.  Miles  with  paternal  gravity, 
"servants  are  advised  not  to  make  too  free  with  their  masters, 
or  the  beggars  will  forget  their  place  and  take  liberties  with 
you.     He !  he !  he !" 

Jenny  put  his  hand  quietly  down  into  the  water,  and  got 
up  and  ran  across  the  room  for  the  door.  Her  course  was 
arrested  by  a  howl  from  the  jocose  youth. 

"Murder !  Take  him  ofif,  Jenny ;  kick  him ;  the  beggar  is 
curling  and  laughing  at  the  same  time.     Confound  you !  can't 

439 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

you  lay  the  irons  down  when  I  say  a  good  thing?  Ha! 
ha!  ha!" 

This  strange  trio  chuckled  a  space,  Miles  the  loudest. 
"Tom,  pour  out  my  tea ;  and  you,  Jenny,  if  you  will  come  to 
the  scratch  again — ha !  ha !  I'll  tell  you  how  I  came  by  this." 

This  promise  brought  the  inquisitive  Jenny  to  the  basin 
directly. 

"You  know  Hazeltine?" 

"Yes,  sir,  a  tall  gentleman  that  comes  here  now  and  then. 
That  is  the  one  you  are  to  run  a  race  with  on  the  public 
course,"  put  in  Jenny,  looking  up  with  scandalised  air. 

"That  is  the  boy ;  but  how  the  deuce  did  you  know?" 

"Gentlemen  to  run  with  all  the  dirty  boys  looking  on  like 
horses,"  remonstrated  the  grammatical  one,  "it  is  a  disgrace." 

"So  it  is — for  the  one  that  is  beat.  Well,  I  was  to  meet 
Hazeltine  to  supper  out  of  town.  By  the  by,  you  don't  know 
Tom  Yates?" — "Oh,"  said  Jenny,  "I  have  heard  of  him  too." 

"I  doubt  that;  there  are  a  good  many  of  his  name." 

"The  rake  I  mean  lives  a  mile  or  two  out  of  Sydney." 

"So  do  half-a-dozen  more  of  them." 

"This  one  is  about  the  biggest  gambler  and  sharper  un- 
hung." 

"All  right !  that  is  my  friend !  Well,  he  gave  us  a  thun- 
dering supper — lots  of  lush." — "What  is  lush?" 

"Tea  and  coffee  and  barley-water,  my  dear.  Oh,  can't  you 
put  the  thundering  irons  down  when  I  say  a  good  thing? 
Well,  I  mustn't  be  witty  any  more,  the  penalty  is  too  severe." 

I  need  hardly  say  it  was  not  Mr.  Miles's  jokes  that  agitated 
Robinson  now ;  on  the  contrary,  in  the  midst  of  this  curiosity 
and  rising  agitation  these  jokes  seemed  ghastly  impossi- 
bilities. 

"Well,  at  ten  o'clock  we  went  upstairs,  to  a  snug  little 
room,  and  all  four  sat  down  to  a  nice  little  green  table." — 
"To  gamble?" 

"No!  to  whist;  but  now  comes  the  fun.  We  had  been 
playing  about  four  hours,  and  the  room  was  hot,  and  Yates 
was  gone  for  a  fresh  pack,  and  old  Hazeltine  was  gone  into 
the  drawing-room  to  cool  himself.  Presently  he  comes  back 
and  he  says  in  a  whisper,  'Come  here,  old  fellows.'  We 
went  with  him  to  the  drawing-room,  and  at  first  sight  we  saw 

440 


I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND' 

nothing,  but  presently  flash  came  a  light  right  in  our  eyes ;  it 
seemed  to  come  from  something  glittering  in  the  field.  And 
these  flashes  kept  coming  and  going.  At  last  we  got  the 
governor,  and  he  puzzled  over  it  a  little  while.  T  know  what 
it  is,'  cried  he,  'it  is  my  cutumber  glass.'  " — Jenny  looked  up. 
"Glass  might  glitter,"  said  she,  "but  I  don't  see  how  it  could 
flash." 

"No  more  did  we,  and  we  laughed  in  the  governor's  face ; 
for  all  that,  we  were  wrong.  'There  is  somebody  under  that 
wall  with  a  dark-lantern,'  said  Tom  Yates,  'and  every  now 
and  then  the  glass  catches  the  glare  and  reflects  it  this  way.' 
'Solomon!'  cried  the  rest  of  us.  The  fact  is,  Jenny,  when 
Tom  Yates  gets  half  drunk  he  develops  sagacity  more  than 
human.  (Robinson  gave  a  little  groan.)  Aha !"  cried  Miles, 
"the  beggar  has  burnt  his  finger.  I'm  glad  of  it.  Why 
should  I  be  the  only  sufferer  by  his  thundering  irons  ?  'Here 
is  a  lark,'  said  I ;  'we'll  nab  this  dark-lantern,  won't  we. 
Hazy?'  'Rather,'  said  Hazy.  'Wait  till  I  get  my  pistols, 
and  I'll  give  you  a  cutlass,  George,'  says  Tom  Yates.  I  for- 
get who  George  was,  but  he  said  he  was  of  noble  blood,  and 
I  think  myself  he  was  some  relation  to  the  King-of-Trumps, 
the  whole  family  came  about  him  so — mind  my  hair  now. 
'Oh,  bother  your  artillery,'  said  I.  'Thrice  is  he  armed  that 
hath  his  quarrel  just.'  When  I'm  a  little  cut  you  may  know 
it  by  my  quoting  Shakespeare.  When  I'm  sober  I  don't  re- 
member a  word  of  him — and  don't  want  to." — "No,  the 
Sporting  Magazine,  that  is  your  Bible,  sir,"  suggested 
Jenny. 

"Yes,  and  let  me  read  it  without  your  commentary — mind 
my  hair  now.  Where  was  I !  Oh !  Hazeltine  and  I  opened 
the  door  softly,  and  whipped  out,  but  the  beggar  was  too 
sharp  for  us.  No  doubt  he  heard  the  door.  Anyway,  be- 
fore we  could  get  through  the  shrubbery  he  was  off,  and  we 
heard  him  clattering  down  the  road  ever  so  far  off.  How- 
ever, we  followed  quietly  on  the  grass  by  the  roadside  at  a 
fair  travelling  pace,  and  by  and  by,  what  do  you  think  ?  Our 
man  had  pulled  up  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  stood  stock- 
still.  'That  is  a  green  trick,'  thought  I.  However,  before 
we  could  get  up  to  him  he  saw  us  or  heard  us,  and  off  down 
the  road  no  end  of  a  pace.     'Tally-ho !'  cried  I.     Out  came 

441 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Hazy  from  the  other  hedge,  and  away  we  went — 'Pug' 
a-head,  'Growler'  and  'Gaylad'  scarce  twenty  yards  from  his 
brush,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.  Well,  of  course  we 
made  sure  of  catching  him  in  about  a  hundred  yards, — two 
such  runners  as  Hazy  and  me " 

"And  did  you  not?" 

"I'll  tell  you.  At  first  we  certainly  gained  on  him  a  few 
yards,  but  after  that  I  could  not  near  him.  But  Hazy  put  on 
a  tremendous  spurt,  and  left  me  behind  for  all  I  could  do. 
'Here  is  a  go,'  thought  I,  'and  I  have  backed  myself  for  a 
hundred  pounds  in  a  half-mile  race  against  this  beggar.' 
Well,  I  was  behind,  but  Hazy  and  the  fox  seemed  to  me  to 
be  joined  together  running,  when  all  of  a  sudden — pouff! 
Hazy's  wind  and  his  pluck  blew  out  together.  He  tailed  off. 
Wasn't  I  pleased?  'Good-bye,  Hazy,'  says  I,  as  I  shot  by 
him  and  took  up  the  running.  Well,  I  tried  all  I  knew ;  but 
this  confounded  fellow  ran  me  within  half-a-mile  of  Sydney 
{N.B.  within  two  miles  of  it).  My  throat  and  all  my  inside 
was  like  an  oven,  and  I  was  thinking  of  tailing  off  too,  when 
I  heard  the  beggar  puff  and  blow,  so  then  I  knew  I  must 
come  up  with  him  before  long." 

"And  did  you,  sir?"  asked  Jenny  in  great  excitement. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  "I  passed  him  even." 

"But  did   you  catch  him?" 

"Well,  why,  yes,  I  caught  him — as  the  Chinese  caught  the 
Tartar.  This  was  one  of  your  downy  coves  that  are  up  to 
every  move.  When  he  found  he  hadn't  legs  to  run  from  me, 
he  slips  back  to  meet  me.  Down  he  goes  under  my  leg — I 
go  blundering  over  him  twenty  miles  an  hour.  He  lifts  me 
clear  over  his  head,  and  I  come  flying  down  from  the  clouds 
heel  over  tip.  I'd  give  twenty  pounds  to  know  how  it  was 
done,  and  fifty  to  see  it  done — to  a  friend.  All  I  know  is, 
that  I  should  have  knocked  my  own  brains  out  if  it  had  not 
been  for  my  hat  and  my  hand — they  bore  the  brunt  between 
them,  as  you  see." 

"And  what  became  of  the  poor  man?"  asked  Jane. 

"Well,  when  the  poor  man  had  flung  me  over  his  head  he 
ran  on  faster  than  ever,  and  by  the  time  I  had  shaken  my 
knowledge-box  and  found  out  north  from  south,  I  heard  the 
poor  man's  nailed  shoes  clattering  down  the  road.     To  start 

442 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

again  a  hundred  yards  behind  a  poor  man  who  could  run  like 
that  would  have  been  making  a  toil  of  a  trouble,  so  I  trotted 
back  to  meet  Hazy. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  he  got  off  clear — ain't  you  Tom?" 

"Yes — no.  A  scoundrel  that  hashed  the  master  Hke  this ! 
— why,  Jane,  you  must  be  mad !" 

"Spare  your  virtuous  indignation,"  said  the  other  coolly. 
"Remember  I  had  been  hunting  him  like  a  wild  beast  till  his 
heart  was  nearly  broke,  and,  when  I  was  down,  he  could 
easily  have  revenged  himself  by  giving  me  a  kick  with  his 
heavy  shoes  on  the  head  or  the  loins,  that  would  have  spoiled 
my  running  for  a  month  of  Sundays.  What  do  you  say  to 
that?" — Robinson  coloured.  "I  say  you  are  very  good  to 
make  excuses  for  an  unfortunate  man — for  a  rascal — that  is 
to  say,  a  burglar;  a " 

"And  how  do  you  know  he  was  all  that  ?"  asked  Jenny  very 
sharply. — "Why  did  he  run  if  he  was  not  guilty?"  inquired 
Robinson  cunningly. 

"Guilty — what  of?"  asked  Jenny. 

"That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you,"  replied  Robinson. 

"I  daresay,"  said  Jenny,  "it  was  some  peaceable  man  that 
took  fright  at  seeing  two  wild  young  gentlemen  come  out  like 
mad  bulls  after  him." — "When  I  have  told  you  my  story  you 
will  be  better  able  to  judge." 

"What,  isn't  the  story  ended?" 

"Ended !     The  cream  of  it  is  coming." 

"Oh,  sir,"  cried  Jenny,  "please  don't  go  on  till  I  come  back. 
I  am  going  for  the  cold  lotion  now ;  I  have  fomented  it 
enough." 

"Well,  look  sharp  then — here  is  the  other  all  in  a  twitter 
with  excitement." 

"Me,  sir?     No — yes,     I  am  naturally  interested." 

"Well,  you  haven't  been  long.  I  don't  think  I  want  any 
lotion ;  the  hot  water  has  done  it  a  good  deal  of  good." 

"This  will  do  it  more." 

"But  do  you  know  it  is  rather  a  bore  to  have  only  one 
hand  to  cut  bread  and  butter  with?" 

"I'll  cut  it,  sir,"  said  Robinson,  laying  down  his  irons  for 
a  moment. 

"How  long  shall  you  be,  Jenny?"  asked  Mr.  Miles. 

443 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"I  shall  have  done  by  when  your  story  is  done,"  replied 
she  coolly. 

Mr.  Miles  laughed.  "Well,  Jenny,"  said  he,  "I  hadn't 
walked  far  before  I  met  Hazeltine.  'Have  you  got  him?' 
says  he.  'Do  I  look  like  it  ?'  said  I  rather  crustily.  Fancy  a 
fool  asking  me  whether  I  had  got  him !  So  I  told  him  all 
about  it,  and  we  walked  back  together.  By  and  by  we  met 
the  other  two  just  outside  the  gate.  Well,  just  as  we  were 
going  in,  Tom  Yates  said,  T  say,  suppose  we  look  round  the 
premises  before  we  go  to  bed.'  We  went  softly  round  the 
house,  and  what  did  we  find  but  a  window  with  the  glass 
taken  out ;  we  poked  about,  and  we  found  a  pair  of  shoes. 
Why  there's  some  one  in  the  house,'  said  Tom  Yates,  'as  I'm 
a  sinner.'  So  we  held  a  council  of  war.  Tom  was  to  go 
into  the  kitchen,  lock  the  door  leading  out,  and  ambush  in  the 
larder  with  his  pistols  :  and  we  three  were  to  go  in  by  the 
front  door  and  search  the  house.  Well,  Hazeltine  and  I  had 
got  within  a  yard  or  two  of  it,  and  the  knave  of  trumps  in 
the  rear  with  a  sword  or  something,  when,  by  George,  sir, 
the  door  began  to  open,  and  out  slips  a  fellow  quietly.  Long 
Hazy  and  I  went  at  him.  Hazy  first.  Crack  he  caught  Hazy 
on  the  head  with  a  bludgeon,  down  went  daddy-long-legs, 
and  I  got  entangled  in  him,  and  the  robber  cut  like  the  wind 
for  the  kitchen.  'Come  on,'  shouted  I  to  the  honourable 
thingumbob,  bother  his  name — there — the  knave  of  trumps, 
and  I  pulled  up  Hazy  but  couldn't  wait  for  him,  and  after 
the  beggar  like  mad.  Well,  as  I  came  near  the  kitchen-door 
I  heard  a  small  scrimmage,  and  back  comes  my  man  flying. 
bludgeon  in  one  hand  and  knife  in  the  other,  both  whirling 
over  his  head  like  a  windmill.  I  kept  cool,  doubled  my  right, 
and  put  in  a  heavy  one  from  the  armpit,  you  know,  Tom ; 
caught  him  just  under  the  chin ;  you  might  have  heard  his 
jaw  crack  a  mile  off ;  down  goes  my  man  on  his  back  flat  on 
the  bricks,  and  his  bludgeon  rattled  one  way  and  his  knife 
the  other — such  a  lark !  Oh  !  oh  !  oh !  what  are  you  doing, 
Robinson?  you  hurt  me  most  confoundedly — I  won't  tell  you 
any  more.  So  now  he  was  down,  in  popped  the  knave  of 
swords  and  fell  on  him,  and  Hazy  came  staggering  in  after 
and  insulted  him  a  bit,  and  we  bagged  him." 

"And  the  other,  sir,"  asked  Tom,  affecting  an  indifferent 

444 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

tone;  "he  didn't  get  off,  I  hope?" — "What  other?"  inquired 
Jenny. 

"The  other  unfor — the  other  rascal — the  burglar," 

"Why,  he  never  said  there  were  two." 

"Y — yes  ! — he  said  they  found  their  shoes." 

"No,  he  said  he  found  a  pair  of  shoes," 

"For  all  that,  you  are  wrong,  Jenny,  and  he  is  right — there 
were  two;  and  what  is  more,  Tom  Yates  had  got  the  other 
threatening  to  blow  out  his  brains  if  he  moved ;  so  down  he 
sat  on  the  dresser  and  took  it  quite  easy  and  whistled  a  tune 
while  we  trussed  the  other  beggar  with  his  own  bludgeon 
and  our  chokers.  Tom  Yates  says  the  cool  one  tumbled 
down  from  upstairs  just  as  we  drove  our  one  in.  Tom  let 
them  try  the  door  before  he  bounced  out ;  then  my  one  flung 
a  chair  at  Tom's  head  and  cut  back,  Tom  nailed  the  other  and 
I  floored  mine — Hurrah  !" 

Through  this  whole  narrative  Robinson  had  coolly  and 
delicately  to  curl  live  hair  with  a  beating  heart,  and  to  curl 
the  very  man  who  was  relating  all  the  time  how  he  had 
hunted  him  and  caught  his  comrades.  Meantime  a  shrewd 
woman  there  listening  with  all  her  ears,  a  woman  too  who 
had  certain  vague  suspicions  about  him,  and  had  taken  him 
up  rather  sharper  than  natural,  he  thought,  when,  being  off 
his  guard  for  a  moment,  he  anticipated  the  narrator  and  as- 
sumed there  were  two  burglars  in  the  house. 

Tom,  therefore,  though  curious  and  anxious,  shut  his  face 
and  got  on  his  guard,  and  it  was  with  an  admirable  imitation 
of  mere  sociable  curiosity  that  he  inquired,  "And  what  did 
the  rascals  say  for  themselves?" — "What  could  they  say?" 
said  Jenny ;  "they  were  caught  in  the  fact." 

"To  do  them  justice,  they  did  not  speak  of  themselves,  but 
they  said  three  or  four  words  too — very  much  to  the  point." 

"How  interesting  it  is  !"  cried  Jenny — "what  about  ?" 

"Well,  it  was  about  your  friend." 

"My  friend?" — "The  peaceable  gentleman  the  two  young 
ruffians  had  chased  down  the  road." 

"Oh,  he  was  one  of  them,"  said  Jane,  "that  is  plain  enough 
now,  in  course.     What  did  they  say  about  him?" 

"  'Sold !'  says  my  one  to  Tom's.  'And  no  mistake.'  says 
Tom's.     Oh,  they  spoke  out ;  took  no  more  notice  of  us  four 

445 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

than  if  we  had  no  ears.  Then  says  mine,  'What  do  you  think 
of  your  pal  now?'  and  what  do  you  think  Tom's  answered, 
Jenny? — it  was  rather  a  curious  answer — multmn  in  parvo, 
as  we  say  at  school,  and  one  that  makes  me  fear  there  is  a 
storm  brewing  for  our  mutual  friend,  the  peaceable  gentle- 
man— Jenny — alias  the  downy  runner." 

"Why,  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  said,  T  think  he  won't  be  alive  this  day  week !'  " 

"The  wretches !" 

"No !  you  don't  see — they  thought  he  had  betrayed  them." 

"But  of  course  you  undeceived  them,  sir,"  said  Robinson. 

"No,  I  didn't.  Why,  you  precious  greenhorn,  was  that 
our  game?" 

"Well,  sir,"  cried  Robinson  cheerfully,  "any  way  it  was  a 
good  night's  work.  The  only  thing  vexes  me,"  added,  he, 
with  an  intense  air  of  mortification,  "is  that  the  worst  scoun- 
drel of  the  lot  got  clear  off ;  that  is  a  pity — a  downright  pity." 

"Make  your  mind  easy,"  replied  Mr.  Miles  calmly;  "he 
won't  escape ;  we  shall  have  him  before  the  day  is  out." 

"Will  you,  sir?  that  is  right — but  how?" — "The  honour- 
able thingumbob,  Tom  Yates's  friend,  put  us  up  to  it.  We 
sent  the  pair  down  to  Sydney  in  the  brake,  and  we  put  Yates's 
groom  (he  is  a  ticket-of-leave)  in  with  them,  and  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  and  he  is  to  condole  with  them  and  have  a  guinea  if 
they  let  out  the  third  man's  name,  and  they  will — for  they 
are  bitter  against  him." 

Robinson  sighed.  "What  is  the  matter?"  said  his  master, 
trying  to  twist  his  head  round. — "Nothing!  only  I  am  afraid 
they — they  won't  split ;  fellows  of  that  sort  don't  split  on  a 
comrade  where  they  can  get  no  good  by  it." 

"Well,  if  they  don't,  still  we  shall  have  him.  One  of  us 
saw  his  face."— "Ah!" 

"It  was  the  honourable — the  knave  of  trumps.  Whilst 
Yates  was  getting  the  arms,  Trumps  slipped  out  by  the  gar- 
den gate  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  friend;  he  saw  him 
take  the  lantern  up  and  fling  it  down  and  run.  The  light  fell 
full  on  his  face  and  he  could  swear  to  it  out  of  a  thousand. 
So  the  net  is  round  our  friend,  and  we  shall  have  him  before 
the  day  is  out." 

"Dring-a-dong-dring"  (a  ring  at  the  belH, 

446 


A 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Have  you  done,  Tom?" — "Just  one  turn  more,  sir." 

"Then,  Jenny,  you  see  who  that  is  ?" — Jenny  went,  and  re- 
turned with  an  embossed  card,  "It  is  a  young  gentleman — 
moustache  and  lavender  gloves ;  oh,  such  a  buck !" 

"Who  can  it  be? — the  'Honourable  George  Lascelles?' 
Why,  that  is  the  very  man.  I  remember  he  said  he  would  do 
himself  the  honour  to  call  on  me.  That  is  the  knave  of 
trumps.  Go  down  directly,  Robinson,  and  tell  him  I'm  at 
home  and  bring  him  up." — "Yes,  sir !" 

"Yes,  sir !  Well,  then,  why  don't  you  go  ?" — "Um !  per- 
haps Jenny  will  go  while  I  clear  these  things  away ;"  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Robinson  hastened  to  encum- 
ber himself  with  the  tea-tray,  and  flung  the  loaf  and  curling- 
irons  into  it,  and  bustled  about  and  showed  a  sudden  zeal  lest 
this  bachelor's  room  should  appear  in  disorder;  and  as  Jenny 
mounted  the  front-stairs  followed  by  the  sprig  of  nobility,  he 
plunged  heavily  laden  down  the  back  stairs  into  the  kitchen 
and  off  with  his  coat  and  cleaned  knives  like  a  mad 
thing. 

"Oh,  if  I  had  but  a  pound  in  my  pocket,"  thought  he;  "I 
would  not  stay  another  hour  in  Sydney.  I'd  get  my  ring 
and  run  for  Bathurst  and  never  look  behind  me.  How  com- 
fortable and  happy  I  was  until  I  fell  back  into  the  old  courses, 
and  now  see  what  a  life  mine  has  been  ever  since !  What  a 
twelve  hours  !  hunted  like  a  wild  beast,  suspected  and  watched 
by  my  fellow-servant,  and  forced  to  hide  my  thoughts  from 
this  one,  and  my  face  from  that  one;  but  I  deserve  it,  and  I 
wish  it  was  ten  times  as  bad.  Oh,  you  fool — you  idiot — you 
brute !  it  is  not  the  half  of  what  you  deserve.  I  ask  but  one 
thing  of  Heaven — that  his  reverence  may  never  know :  don't 
let  me  break  that  good  man's  heart ;  I'd  much  rather  die  be- 
fore the  day  is  out !" 

At  this  moment  Jenny  came  in.  Robinson  cleaned  the 
poor  knives  harder  still  and  did  not  speak ;  his  cue  was  to 
find  out  what  was  passing  in  the  girl's  mind.  But  she  washed 
her  cup  and  saucer  and  plates  in  silence.  Presently  the  bell 
rang. 

"Tom !"  said  Jenny  quietly. 

"Would  you  mind  going,  Jenny?" 

"Me!  it  is  not  my  business." 

447 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"No,  Jenny !  but  once  in  a  way,  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

"Once !  why  I  have  been  twice  to  the  door  for  you  to-day. 
You  to  your  place  and  I  to  mine.     Shan't  go !" 

"Look  at  rne  with  my  coat  off  and  covered  with  brickdust." 

"Put  your  coat  on  and  shake  the  dust  off." 

"Oh,  Jenny !  that  is  not  like  you  to  refuse  me  such  a  trifle. 
I  would  not  disoblige  you  so." 

"I  didn't  refuse,"  said  Jenny,  making  for  the  door ;  "I  only 
said  'no'  once  or  twice — ive  don't  call  that  refusing;"  but 
as  she  went  out  of  the  door  she  turned  sharp  as  if  to  catch 
Robinson's  face  off  its  guard ;  and  her  grey  eye  dwelt  on  him 
with  one  of  those  demure  inexplicable  looks  her  sex  can  give 
all  ah  extra,  seeing  all,  revealing  nothing. 

She  returned  with  her  face  on  fire :  "That  is  what  I  get 
for  taking  your  place  !" 

"What  is  the  matter!" 

"That  impudent  young  villain  wanted  to  kiss  me." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?" — "No!  it  is  not  all;  he  said  I  was  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Sydney"  (with  an  appearance  of  rising  indig- 
nation). 

"Well,  but,  Jennv,  that  is  no  news ;  I  could  have  told  him 
that." 

"Then  why  did  you  never  tell  me?" 

"I  thought  by  your  manner  you  knew  it." 

Having  tried  to  propitiate  the  foe  thus,  Robinson  lost  no 
more  time,  but  went  upstairs  and  asked  Mr.  Miles  for  the 
trifle  due  to  him  as  wages.  Mr.  Miles  was  very  sorry,  but 
he  had  been  cleaned  out  at  his  friend  Yates's — had  not  a 
shilling  left,  and  no  hopes  of  any  for  a  fortnight  to  come. 
"Then,  sir,"  said  Robinson  doggedly,  "I  hope  you  will  allow 
me  to  go  into  the  town  and  try  and  make  a  little  for  myself, 
just  enough  to  pay  my  traveling  expenses." — "By  all  means," 
was  the  reply;  "tell  me  if  you  succeed,  and  I'll  borrow  a  sove- 
reign of  you." 

Out  went  Robinson  into  the  town  of  Sydney.  He  got  into 
a  respectable  street  and  knocked  at  a  good  house  with  a  green 
door.  He  introduced  himself  to  the  owner  as  a  first-rate 
painter  and  engrainer,  and  offered  to  turn  this  door  into  a 
mahogany,  walnut,  oak,  or  what-not  door.  "The  house  is 
beautiful,  all  but  the  door."  said  sly  Tom;  "it  is  blistered." — 

448 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"I  am  quite  content  with  it  as  it  is,"  was  the  reply  in  a  rude 
supercilious  tone. 

Robinson  went  away  discomfited ;  he  went  doggedly  down 
the  street  begging  them  all  to  have  their  doors  beautified,  and 
wincing  at  every  refusal.  At  last  he  found  a  shopkeeper  who 
had  no  objection,  but  doubted  Robinson's  capacity.  "Show 
me  what  you  can  do,"  said  he  slily,  "and  then  I'll  talk  to 
you." 

"Send  for  the  materials,"  replied  the  artist,  "and  give  me  a 
board  and  I'll  put  half  a  dozen  woods  on  the  face  of  it." 

"And  pray,"  said  the  man,  "why  should  I  lay  out  my 
money  in  advertising  you  ?  No !  you  bring  me  a  specimen, 
and  if  it  is  all  right  I'll  give  you  the  job." 

"That  is  a  bargain,"  replied  Robinson,  and  went  off.  "How 
hard  they  make  honesty  to  a  poor  fellow,"  muttered  he  bit- 
terly, "but  I'll  beat  them,"  and  he  clenched  his  teeth. 

He  went  to  a  pawnbroker's  and  pawned  the  hat  off  his  head 
— it  was  a  new  one ;  then  for  a  halfpenny  he  bought  a  sheet 
of  brown  paper  and  twisted  it  into  a  workman's  cap ;  he 
bought  the  brushes  and  a  little  paint  and  a  little  varnish,  and 
then  he  was  without  a  penny  again.  He  went  to  a  wheel- 
wright's and  begged  the  loan  of  a  small  valueless  worm- 
eaten  board  he  saw  kicking  about,  telling  him  what  it  was 
for.  The  wealthy  wheelwright  eyed  him  with  scorn. 
"Should  I  ever  see  it  again,"  asked  he  ironically.  "Keep  it 
for  your  coffin,"  said  Robinson  fiercely,  and  passed  on.  "How 
hard  they  make  honesty  to  a  poor  fellow !  I  was  a  fool  for 
asking  for  it  when  I  might  have  taken  it.  What  was  there 
to  hinder  me  ?    Honesty,  my  lass,  you  are  bitter." 

Presently  he  came  to  the  suburbs,  and  there  was  a  small 
wooden  cottage.  The  owner,  a  common  labourer,  was  re- 
pairing it  as  well  as  he  could.  Robinson  asked  him  very 
timidly  if  he  could  spare  a  couple  of  square  feet  off  a  board 
he  was  sawing.  "What  for?"  Robinson  showed  his  paint- 
pot  and  brushes,  and  told  him  how  he  was  at  a  stand-still  for 
want  of  a  board.    "It  is  only  a  loan  of  it  I  ask."  said  he. 

The  man  measured  the  plank  carefully,  and  after  some 
hesitation  cut  off  a  good  piece.  "I  can  spare  that  much," 
said  he ;  "poor  folk  should  feel  for  one  another." 

"I'll  bring  it  back,  you  may  depend,"  said  Robinson. 

-">  449 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"You  needn't  trouble,"  replied  the  labouring  man  with  a 
droll  wink,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Gammon !" 

When  Robinson  returned  to  the  sceptical  shopkeeper  with 
a  board  on  which  oak,  satin-wood,  &c.,  were  imitated  to  the 
life  in  squares,  that  worthy  gave  a  start  and  betrayed  his 
admiration,  and  Robinson  asked  five  shillings  more  than  he 
would  if  the  other  had  been  more  considerate.  In  short, 
before  evening  the  door  was  painted  a  splendid  imitation  of 
walnut-wood,  the  shopkeeper  was  enchanted,  and  Robinson 
had  fifteen  shillings  handed  over  to  him.  He  ran  and  got 
Mr.  Eden's  ring  out  of  pawn,  and  kissed  it  and  put  it  on; 
next  he  liberated  his  hat.  He  slept  better  this  night  than  the 
last.  "One  more  such  day  and  I  shall  have  enough  to  pay  my 
expenses  to  Bathurst." 

He  turned  out  early  and  went  into  the  town.  He  went 
into  the  street  where  he  had  worked  last  evening,  and  when 
he  came  near  his  door  there  was  a  knot  of  persons  round  it. 
Robinson  joined  them.  Presently  one  of  the  shop-boys  cried 
out,  "Why,  here  he  is,  this  is  the  painter !" 

Instantly  three  or  four  hands  were  laid  on  Robinson. 
"Come  and  paint  my  door," — "No,  come  and  paint  mine!" 
—"No,  mine !" 

Tom  had  never  been  in  such  request  since  he  was  an 
itinerant  quack.  His  sly  eye  twinkled,  and  this  artist  put 
himself  up  to  auction  then  and  there.  He  was  knocked  down 
to  a  tradesman  in  the  same  street — twenty-one  shillings  the 
price  of  this  door  (mock  mahogany).  While  he  was  work- 
ing, commissions  poured  in,  and  Robinson's  price  rose,  the 
demand  for  him  being  greater  than  the  supply.  The  ma- 
hogany door  was  really  a  chef-d'oeuvre.  He  came  home 
triumphant  with  thirty  shillings  in  his  pocket,  he  spread 
them  out  on  the  kitchen-table  and  looked  at  them  with  a 
pride  and  a  thrill  of  joy  money  never  gave  him  before.  He 
had  often  closed  the  shutters  and  furtively  spread  out  twice 
as  many  sovereigns,  but  they  were  only  his ;  those  shillings 
were  his  own.  And  they  were  not  only  his  own,  but  his 
own  by  labour.  Each  sacred  shilling  represented  so  much 
virtue,  for  industry  is  a  virtue.  He  looked  at  them  with  a 
father's  pride. 

"How   sweet  the  butter  our  own  hands  have  churned !" — T.  T. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

He  blessed  his  reverend  friend  for  having  taught  him  an 
art  in  a  dung-hole  where  idiots  and  savages  teach  crank.  He 
blessed  his  reverence's  four  bones,  his  favourite  imprecation 
of  the  benevolent  kind.  I  conclude  the  four  bones  meant 
the  arms  and  legs ;  if  so,  it  would  have  been  more  to  the 
point  had  he  blessed  the  fifth — the  skull. 

Jenny  came  in  and  found  him  gloating  over  his  virtuous 
shillings.  She  stared.  He  told  her  what  he  had  been  about 
these  two  days  past,  his  difficulties,  his  success,  the  admi- 
ration his  work  excited  throughout  the  capital  (he  must  ex- 
aggerate a  little  or  it  would  not  be  Tom  Robinson),  and 
the  wealth  he  was  amassing. 

Jennie  was  glad  to  hear  this,  very  glad,  but  she  scolded 
him  well  for  pawning  his  hat.  "Why  didn't  you  ask  me?" 
said  she;  *T  would  have  lent  you  a  pound,  or  even  two,  or 
given  them  you  for  any  honest  purpose."  And  Jenny  pouted, 
and  got  up  a  littlfe  quarrel. 

The  next  day  a  gentleman  caught  Robinson  and  made 
him  paint  two  doors  in  his  fancy  villa.  Satin-wood  this 
time;  and  he  received  three  pounds  three  shilHngs,  a  good 
dinner,  and  what  Bohemians  all  adore — praise.  Now  as  he 
returned  in  the  evening  a  sudden  misgiving  came  to  him. 
"I  have  not  thought  once  of  Bathurst  to-day.  I  see — all  this 
money-making  is  a  contrivance  to  keep  me  in  Sydney.  It  is 
absurd  my  coining  paint  at  this  rate.  I  see  your  game,  my 
lad ;  either  I  am  to  fall  into  bad  company  again,  or  to  be  split 
upon  and  nabbed  for  that  last  job.  To-morrow  I  will  be  on 
the  road  to  Bathurst.  I  can  paint  there  just  as  well  as  here; 
besides,  I  have  got  my  orders  from  his  reverence  to  go,  and 
I'll  go." 

He  told  Jane  his  resolution :  she  made  no  answer.  While 
these  two  were  sitting  cosily  by  the  fireside,  for  since  Robin- 
son took  to  working  hard  all  day  he  began  to  relish  the 
hearth  at  night,  suddenly  cheerful  boisterous  voices,  and  Mr. 
Miles  and  two  friends  burst  in,  and  would  have  an  extempore 
supper,  and  nothing  else  would  serve  these  libertines  but 
mutton-chops  oflf  the  gridiron.  So  they  invaded  the  kitchen. 
Out  ran  Jenny  to  avoid  them — or  put  on  a  smarter  cap ;  and 
Robinson  was  to  cut  the  chops,  and  lay  a  cloth  on  the  dresser 
and  help  cook.    While  his  master  went  off  to  the  cellar,  the 

451 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

two  rakes  who  remained  chattered  and  laughed  both  pretty 
loud.  They  had  dined  together,  and  the  bottle  had  not  stood 
still. 

'T  have  heard  that  voice  before,"  thought  Robinson.  "It 
is  a  very  peculiar  voice.     Whose  voice  is  that?" 

He  looked  the  gentleman  full  in  the  face,  and  could  hardly 
suppress  a  movement  of  surprise. 

The  gentleman  by  the  instinct  of  the  eye  caught  his,  and 
his  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  to  Robinson,  and  from 
that  moment  his  eye  was  never  off  Robinson,  following  him 
everywhere.  Robinson  affected  not  to  notice  this ;  the  chops 
were  grilling,  Jenny  came  in  and  bustled  about  and  pretend- 
ed not  to  hear  the  side-compliments  of  the  libertines.  Pres- 
ently the  young  gentleman  with  the  peculiar  voice  took  out 
his  pocket-book  and  said,  "I  have  a  bet  to  propose.  I'll  bet 
you  fifty  pounds  I  find  the  man  you  two  hunted  down  the 
road  on  Monday  night." 

"No  takers,"  replied  Mr.  Hazeltine  with  his  mouth  full. 
"Stop  a  bit.  I  don't  care  if  I  make  a  time  bet,"  said 
Miles.  "How  soon  will  you  bet  you  can  catch  him?" — "In 
half  an  hour,"  was  the  cool  reply.  And  the  Honourable 
George  while  making  it  managed  at  the  same  time  in  a  saun- 
tering sort  of  way  to  put  himself  between  Robinson  and  the 
door  that  led  out  into  the  garden.  Robinson  eyed  him  in 
silence  and  never  moved. 

"In  half  an  hour.  That  is  a  fair  bet,"  said  Mr.  Miles. 
"Shall  I  take  him  ?" 

"Better  not;  he  is  a  knowing  one.  He  has  seen  him  to 
earth  somewhere,  or  he  would  not  offer  you  such  a  bet." 

"Well,  I'll  bet  you  five  to  three,"  proposed  the  Honourable 
George. 

"Done  '."—"Done !" 

Robinson  put  in  a  hasty  word:  "And  what  is  to  become 
of  Thimble-rig  Jem,  sir?"  These  words,  addressed  to  Mr. 
Lascelles  produced  a  singular  effect.  That  gentleman  gave 
an  immediate  shiver  as  if  a  bullet  had  passed  clean  through 
him  and  out  again,  then  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  first  at 
one  door  then  at  the  other,  as  if  Hesitating  which  he  should 
go  by.  Robinson  continued,  addressing  him  with  marked  re- 
spect, "What  I  mean,  sir,  is  that  there  is  a  Government  re- 

452 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ward  of  two  hundred  pounds  for  Thimble-rig  Jem,  and  the 
police  wouldn't  like  to  be  drawn  away  from  two  hundred 
pounds  after  a  poor  fellow  like  him  you  saw  on  Monday 
night,  one  that  is  only  suspected,  and  no  reward  offered. 
Now,  Jem  is  a  notorious  culprit." 

"Who  is  this  Jem,  my  man?  What  is  he?"  asked  Mr. 
Lascelles  with  a  composure  that  contrasted  remarkably  with 
this  late  emotion, — "A  convict  escaped  from  Norfolk  Isl- 
and, sir ;  an  old  offender.  I  fell  in  with  him  once.  He  has 
forgotten  me,  I  daresay,  but  I  never  forget  a  man.  They 
say  he  has  grown  a  moustache  and  whiskers,  and  passes  him- 
self off  for  a  nob ;  but  I  could  swear  to  him." 

"How  ?    By  what  ?"  cried  Mr.  Miles. 

"If  he  should  ever  be  fool  enough  to  get  in  my  way " 

"Hang  Thimble-rig  Jem,"  cried  Hazletine.  "Is  it  a  bet, 
Lascelles  ?"— "What  ?" 

"That  you  nab  our  one  in  half  an  hour?" 

Mr.  Lascelles  affected  an  aristocratic  drawl :  "No,  I  was 
joking.  I  couldn't  afford  to  leave  the  fire  for  thirty  pounds. 
Why  should  I  run  after  the  poor  dayvil  ?  Find  him  your- 
selves.   He  never  annoyed  me.    Got  a  cigar.  Miles  ?" 

After  their  chops,  &c.,  the  rakes  went  off  to  finish  the 
night  elsewhere. 

"There,  they  are  gone  at  last !  Why,  Jenny,  how  pale  you 
look !"  said  Robinson,  not  seeing  the  colour  of  his  own  cheek. 
"What  is  wrong?" — Jenny  answered  by  sitting  down  and 
bursting  out  crying.  Tom  sat  opposite  her  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground.  "Oh,  what  I  have  gone  through  this  day !"  cried 
Jenny.     "Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !"  sobbing  convulsively. 

What  could  Tom  do  but  console  her?  And  she  found  it 
so  agreeable  to  be  consoled  that  she  prolonged  her  distress. 
An  impressionable  Bohemian  on  one  side  a  fireplace,  and  a 
sweet,  pretty  girl  crying  on  the  other,  what  wonder  that  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  found  this  pair  sitting  on  the  same 
side  of  the  fire  aforesaid,  her  hand  in  his  ? 

The  next  morning  at  six  o'clock  Jenny  was  down  to  make 
his  breakfast  for  him  before  starting.  If  she  had  said,  "Don't 
go,"  it  is  to  be  feared  the  temptation  would  have  been  too 
strong,  but  she  did  not ;  she  said  sorrowfully.  "You  are  right 
to  leave  this  town."    She  never  explained.    Tom  never  heard 

453 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

from  her  own  lips  how  far  her  suspicions  went.  He  was  a 
coward,  and  seeing  how  shrewd  she  was,  was  afraid  to  ask 
her;  and  she  was  one  of  your  natural  ladies,  who  can  leave 
a  thing  unsaid  out  of  delicacy. 

Tom  Robinson  was  what  Jenny  called  "capital  company." 
He  had  won  her  admiration  by  his  conversation,  his  stones 
of  life,  and  now  and  then  a  song,  and  by  his  good  looks  and 
good  nature.  She  disguised  her  affection  admirably  until  he 
was  in  danger  and  about  to  leave  her,  and  then  she  betrayed 
herself.  If  she  was  fire,  he  was  tow.  At  last  it  came  to 
this :  "Don't  you  cry  so,  dear  girl.  I  have  got  a  question  to 
put  to  you — If  I  come  back  a  better  man  than  I  go,  will 
YOU  BE  Mrs.  Robinson  ?" 

"Yes." 


CHAPTER   LI. 

ROBINSON  started  for  Bathurst.  Just  before  he  got 
clear  of  the  town  he  passed  the  poor  man's  cottage 
who  had  lent  him  the  board.  "Bless  me,  how  came  I  to  for- 
get him?"  said  he.  At  that  moment  the  man  came  out  to 
go  to  work.  "Here  I  am,"  said  Robinson,  meeting  him  full, 
"and  here  is  your  board ;"  showing  it  to  him  painted  in 
squares.  "Can't  afford  to  give  it  you  back — it  is  my  adver- 
tisement. But  here  is  half-a-crown  for  it,  and  for  your  trust- 
ing me." 

"Well,  to  be  sure,"  cried  the  man.  "Now,  who'd  have 
thought  this  ?  Why,  if  the  world  is  not  turning  honest.  But 
half-a-crown  is  too  much ;  'tain't  worth  the  half  of  it." 

"It  was  worth  five  pounds  to  me.  I  got  employment 
through  it.  Look  here,"  and  he  showed  him  several  pounds 
in  silver ;  "all  this  came  from  your  board ;  so  take  your  half- 
crown  and  my  thanks  on  the  head  of  it." 

The  half-crown  lay  in  the  man's  palm :  he  looked  in  Robin- 
son's face.  "Well,"  cried  he  with  astonishment,  "you  are  the 
honestest  man  ever  I  fell  in  with." 

"I  am  the  honestest  man !  You  will  go  to  heaven  for  say- 
ing those  words  to  me,"  cried  Robinson  warmly  and  with 

454 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

agitation.    "Good-bye,  my  good  charitable  soul ;  you  de>5erve 
ten  times  what  you  have  got,"  and  Robinson  made  off. 

The  other,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  the  shock,  shouted 
after  him,  "Good-bye,  honest  man,  and  good  luck  wherever 
you  go." 

And  Robinson  heard  him  scuttle  about  and  hastily  convene 
small  boys  and  despatch  them  down  the  road  to  look  at  an 
honest  man.  But  the  young  wood  did  not  kindle  at  his  en- 
thusiasm. Had  the  rarity  been  a  bear  with  a  monkey  on  him, 
well  and  good. 

"I'm  pretty  well  paid  for  a  little  honesty,"  thought  Robin- 
son. He  stepped  gallantly  out  in  high  spirits,  and  thought 
of  Jenny,  and  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  saw  in  her  affection 
yet  another  inducement  to  be  honest  and  industrious.  Noth- 
ing of  note  happened  on  his  way  to  Bathurst,  except  that 
one  day  as  he  was  tramping  along  very  hot  and  thirsty,  a 
luscious  prickly  pear  hung  over  a  wall,  and  many  a  respect- 
able man  would  have  taken  it  without  scrupple ;  but  Tom 
was  so  afraid  of  beginning  again,  he  turned  his  back  on  it  and 
ran  on  instead  of  walking,  to  make  sure. 

When  he  reached  Bathurst,  his  purse  was  very  low,  and  he 
had  a  good  many  more  miles  to  go,  and  not  feeling  quite 
sure  of  his  welcome,  he  did  not  care  to  be  penniless,  so  he 
Avent  round  the  town  with  his  advertising-board,  and  very 
soon  was  painting  doors  in  Bathurst.  He  found  the  natives 
stingier  here  than  in  Sydney,  and  they  had  a  notion  a  travel- 
ler like  him  ought  to  work  much  cheaper  than  an  established 
man ;  but  still  he  put  by  something  every  day. 

He  had  been  three  days  in  the  town  when  a  man  stepped 
up  to  him  as  he  finished  a  job  and  asked  him  to  go  home 
with  him..  The  man  took  him  to  a  small  but  rather  neat  shop 
— plumber's,  glazier's,  and  painter's. 

"Why,  you  don't  want  me,"  said  Robinson ;  "we  are  in  the 
same  line  of  business." — "Step  in."  said  the  man.  In  a  few 
words  he  let  Robinson  know  that  he  had  a  great  bargain  to 
offer  him.  "I  am  going  to  sell  the  shop,"  said  he.  "It  is  a 
business  I  never  much  fancied,  and  I  had  rather  sell  it  to  a 
stranger  than  to  a  Bathurst  man,  for  the  trade  have  offended 
me.  There  is  not  a  man  in  the  colony  can  work  like  you, 
and  you  may  make  a  little  fortune  here." 

455 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Robinson's  eyes  sparkled  a  moment,  then  he  replied,  "I 
am  too  poor  to  buy  a  business.  What  do  you  want  for  it?" 
— "Only  sixty  pounds  for  the  articles  in  the  shop  and  the 
good-will  and  all." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  it  is  moderate,  but  how  am  I  to  find 
sixty  pounds?" 

"I'll  make  it  as  light  as  a  feather.  Five  pounds  down. 
Five  pounds  in  a  month;  after  that  ten  pounds  a  month  till 
we  are  clear.  Take  possession  and  sell  the  goods,  and  work 
the  good-will  on  payment  of  the  first  five." 

"That  is  very  liberal,"  said  Robinson.  "Well,  give  me  till 
next  Thursday,  and  I'll  bring  the  first  five." 

"Oh,  I  can't  do  that ;  I  give  you  the  first  ofifer,  but  into  the 
market  it  goes  this  evening,  and  no  later." 
"I'll  call  this  evening  and  see  if  I  can  do  it." 
Robinson  tried  to  make  up  the  money,  but  it  was  not  to  be 
done.  Then  fell  a  terrible  temptation  upon  him.  Handling 
George  Fielding's  letter  with  his  delicate  fingers,  he  satisfied 
himself  there  was  a  bank-note  in  it.  Why  not  borrow  this 
bank-note?  The  shop  would  soon  repay  it.  The  idea  rushed 
over  him  like  a  flood.  At  the  same  moment  he  took  fright 
at  it — "Lord  help  me!"  he  ejaculated. 

He  rushed  to  a  shop,  bought  two  or  three  sheets  of  brown 
paper,  and  a  lot  of  wafers.  With  nimble  fingers  he  put  the 
letter  in  one  parcel,  that  parcel  in  another,  that  in  another, 
and  so  on  till  there  were  a  dozen  envelopes  between  him  and 
the  irregular  loan.  This  done,  he  confided  the  grand  parcel 
to  his  landlord.    "Give  it  me  when  I  start." 

He  went  no  more  near  the  little  shop  till  he  had  made 
seven  pounds ;  then  he  went.  The  shop  and  business  had  been 
sold  just  twenty-four  hours.  Robinson  groaned.  "If  I  had 
not  been  so  very  honest !  Never  mind.  I  must  take  the  bitter 
with  the  sweet." 

For  all  that,  the  town  became  distasteful  to  him.  He 
bought  a  cheap  revolver,  for  there  was  a  talk  of  bushrangers 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  started  to  walk  to  George  Field- 
ing's farm.  He  reached  it  in  the  evening.  "There  was  no 
George  Fielding  here,"  was  the  news.  "He  left  this  more 
than  six  months  ago." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?"— "Not  I." 

456 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND ' 

Robinson  had  to  ask  everybody  he  met  where  George  Field- 
ing was  gone  to.  At  last  by  good  luck,  he  fell  in  with 
George's  friend  M'Laughlan,  who  told  him  it  was  twenty-five 
miles  off. 

"Twenty-five  miles?  that  must  be  for  to-morrow  then." 

M'Laughlan  told  him  he  knew  George  Fielding  very  well. 
"He  is  a  fine  lad."  Then  he  asked  Robinson  what  was  his 
business.  Robinson  took  down  a  very  thin  light  board  with 
ornamental  words  painted  on  it.  "That  is  my  business,"  said 
he. 

At  the  sight  of  a  real  business,  the  worthy  Scot  offered  to 
take  care  of  him  for  the  night,  and  put  him  on  the  road  to 
Fielding's  next  morning.  Next  morning  Robinson  painted 
his  front-door  as  a  return  for  bed  and  breakfast.  M'Laugh- 
lan gave  him  somewhat  intricate  instructions  for  to-morrow's 
route.  Robinson  followed  them  and  soon  lost  his  way.  He 
was  set  right  again,  but  lost  it  again;  and  after  a  tremen- 
dous day's  walk  made  up  his  mind  he  should  have  to  camp  in 
the  open  air  and  without  his  supper,  when  he  heard  a  dog 
baying  in  the  distance.  "There  is  a  house  of  some  kind,  any- 
way," thought  Robinson,  "but  where?  I  see  none;  better 
make  for  the  dog." 

He  made  straight  for  the  sound,  but  still  he  could  not  see 
any  house.  At  last,  however,  coming  over  a  hill  he  found  a 
house  beneath  him,  and  on  the  other  side  of  this  house  the 
dog  was  howling  incessantly.  Robinson  came  down  the  hill, 
walked  round  the  house,  and  there  sat  the  dog  on  the  steps. 
"Well,  it  is  you  for  howling,  anyway,"  said  Robinson.  "Any- 
body at  home?"  he  shouted.  No  one  answered  and  the  dog 
howled  on.  "Why,  the  place  is  deserted,  I  think.  Haven't 
I  seen  that  dog  before  ?  Why,  it  is  Carlo !  Here,  Carlo,  poor 
fellow,  Carlo,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

The  dog  gave  a  little  whimper  as  Robinson  stooped  and 
patted  him,  but  no  sign  of  positive  recognition ;  but  he  pat- 
tered into  the  house.  Robinson  followed  him,  and  there  he 
found  the  man  he  had  come  to  see,  stretched  on  his  bed,  pale 
and  hollow-eyed  and  grisly,  and  looking  like  a  corpse  in  the 
fading  light. 

Robinson  was  awe-struck.  "Oh.  what  is  this?"  said  he. 
"Have  I  come  all  this  way  to  bury  him?" 

457 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

He  leaned  over  him  and  felt  his  heart;  it  beat  feebly  but 
equably,  and  he  muttered  something  unintelligible  when 
Robinson  touched  him.  Then  Robinson  struck  a  light,  and 
right  glad  he  was  to  find  a  caldron  full  of  gelatinised  beef- 
soup.  He  warmed  some  and  ate  a  great  supper,  and  Carlo 
sat  and  whimpered,  and  then  wagged  his  tail,  and  plucked  up 
more  and  more  spirit,  and  finally  recognised  Tom  all  in  a 
moment  somehow,  and  announced  the  fact  by  one  great  dis- 
connected bark  and  a  saltatory  motion.  This  done,  he  turned 
to  and  also  ate  a  voracious  supper.  Robinson  rolled  himself 
up  in  George's  greatcoat  and  slept  like  a  top  on  the  floor. 
Next  morning  he  was  waked  by  a  tapping,  and  there  was 
Carlo  seated  bolt  upright  with  his  tail  beating  the  floor  be- 
cause George  was  sitting  up  in  the  bed  looking  about  him  in 
a  puzzled  way.     "Jacky,"  said  he,  "is  that  you !" 

Robinson  got  up,  rubbed  his  eyes  and  came  towards  the 
bed.  George  stared  in  his  face  and  rubbed  his  eyes  too,  for 
he  thought  he  must  be  under  an  ocular  delusion. 

"Who  are  you?"— "A  friend." 

"Well,  I  didn't  think  to  see  you  under  a  roof  of  mine 
again." 

"Just  the  welcome  I  expected,"  thought  Robinson  bitter- 
ly. He  answered  coldly :  "Well,  as  soon  as  you  are  well  you 
can  turn  me  out  of  your  house,  but  I  should  say  you  are 
not  strong  enough  to  do  it  just  now." 

"No,  I  am  weak  enough,  but  I  am  better — I  could  eat 
something." — "Oh,  you  could  do  that !  What !  even  if  I 
cooked  it.  Here  goes  then."  Tom  lit  the  fire  and  warmed 
some  beef-soup.  George  ate  some,  but  very  little;  however, 
he  drank  a  great  jugful  of  water — then  dozed,  and  fell  into 
a  fine  perspiration.  It  was  a  favourable  crisis,  and  from  that 
moment  youth  and  a  sound  constitution  began  to  pull  him 
through ;  moreover  no  assassin  had  been  there  with  his  lancet. 

Behold  the  thief  turned  nurse!  The  next  day,  as  he  pot- 
tered about  cleaning  the  room,  opening  or  shutting  the  win- 
dows, cooking  and  serving,  he  noticed  George's  eye  follow- 
ing him  everywhere  with  a  placid  wonder,  which  at  last 
broke  into  words. 

"You  take  a  deal  of  trouble  about  me." 

"I  do,"  was  the  drv  answer. 

458 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LAIJE  TO   MEND 


'It  is  very  good  of  you,  but- 


"You  would  as  leave  it  was  anybody  else;  but  your  other 
friends  have  left  you  to  die  like  a  dog,"  said  Robinson  sar- 
castically. "Well,  they  left  you  when  you  were  sick — I'll 
leave  you  when  you  are  well." — "What  for?  Seems  to  me 
that  you  have  earned  a  right  to  stay  as  long  as  you  are 
minded.  The  man  that  stands  by  me  in  trouble  I  won't  bid 
him  go  when  the  sun  shines  again." 

And  at  this  precise  point  in  his  sentence,  without  the 
least  warning,  Mr.  Fielding  ignited  himself,  and  inquired 
with  fury  whether  it  came  within  Robinson's  individual  ex- 
perience that  George  Fielding  was  of  an  ungrateful  turn, 
or  whether  such  was  the  general  voice  of  fame — "Now  don't 
you  get  in  a  rage  and  burst  your  boiler,"  said  Robinson. 
"Well,  George,  without  joking  though,  I  have  been  kind  to 
you ;  not  for  nursing  you — what  Christian  would  not  do  that 
for  his  countryman  and  his  old  landlord  sick  in  a  desert? 
But  what  would  you  think  of  me  if  I  told  you  I  had  come 
a  hundred  and  sixty  miles  to  bring  you  a  letter  ?  I  wouldn't 
show  it  you  before,  for  they  say  exciting  them  is  bad  for 
fever,  but  I  think  I  may  venture  now.  Here  it  is."  And 
Robinson  tore  off  one  by  one  the  twelve  envelopes,  to 
George's  astonishment  and  curiosity.  "There." — "I  don't 
know  the  hand,"  said  George.  But  opening  the  enclosure, 
he  caught  a  glance  of  a  hand  he  did  know,  and  let  every- 
thing else  drop  on  the  bed,  while  he  held  this  and  gazed  at 
it,  and  the  colour  flushed  into  his  white  cheek.  "Oh !"  cried 
he,  and  worshipped  it  in  silence  again;  then  opened  it  and 
devoured  it.  First  came  some  precious  words  of  affection 
and  encouragement.  He  kissed  the  letter.  "You  are  a  good 
fellow  to  bring  me  such  a  treasure,  and  I'll  never  forget  it 
as  long  as  I  live !" 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  letter.  "There  is  something 
about  you,  Tom  !" — "About  me  ?" 

"She  tells  me  vou  never  had  a  father — not  to  sav  a 
father " 

"She  says  true." — "Susan  says  that  is  a  great  disadvantage 
to  any  man,  and  so  it  is — and,  poor  fellow " 

"What?" — "She  says  they  came  between  your  sweetheart 
and  you — Oh.  poor  Tom !" 

459 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"What  ?" — "You  lost  your  sweetheart ;  no  wonder  you  went 
astray  after  that.  What  would  become  of  me  if  I  lost  my 
Susan?  And — ay,  you  were  always  better  than  me,  Susan. 
She  says  she  and  I  have  never  been  sore  tempted  like  you." 

"Bless  her  little  heart  for  making  excuses  for  a  poor  fel- 
low ;  but  she  was  always  a  charitable  kind-hearted  young 
lady." 

"Wasn't  she,  Tom?" — "And  what  sweet  eyes!" 

"Ain't  they,  Tom  ?  brimful  of  heaven,  I  call  them." — "And 
when  she  used  to  smile  on  you,  Master  George,  oh !  the 
ivories." 

"Now  you  take  my  hand  this  minute.  How  foolish  I  am ! 
I  can't  see.  Now  you  shall  read  it  on  to  me  because  you 
brought  it." — "  'And  you,  George,  that  are  as  honest  a  man 
as  ever  lived,  do  keep  him  by  you  awhile,  and  keep  him  in  the 
right  way.  He  is  well-disposed,  but  weak — do  it  to  oblige 
me.'  " 

"Will  you  stay  with  me,  Tom?"  inquired  George,  cheerful 
and  business-like.  "I  am  not  a  lucky- man,  but  while  I  have 
a  shilling  there's  sixpence  for  the  man  that  brought  me  this 
— dew  in  the  desert,  I  call  it.  And  to  think  you  have  seen 
her  since  I  have.  How  was  she  looking?  had  she  her 
beautiful  colour?  what  did  she  say  to  you  with  her  own 
mouth  ?" 

Then  Robinson  had  to  recall  every  word  Susan  had  said 
to  him ;  this  done,  George  took  the  enclosure.  "Stop,  here  is 
something  for  you.  'George  Fielding  is  requested  to  give 
this  to  Robinson  for  the  use  of  Thomas  Sinclair.'  There  you 
are,  Tom — well! — what  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing.  It  is  a  name  I  have  not  heard  a  while.  I  did 
not  know  any  creature  but  me  knew  it ;  is  it  glamour  or 
what  ?" 

"Why,  Tom,  what  is  the  matter?  don't  look  like  that. 
Open  it,  and  let  us  see  what  there  is  inside." 

Robinson  opened  it,  and  there  was  the  five-pound  note  for 
him,  with  this  line — "If  you  have  regained  the  name  of  Sin- 
clair, keep  it."  Robinson  ran  out  of  the  house,  and  walked 
to  and  fro  in  a  state  of  exaltation.  "I'm  well  paid  for  my 
journey ;  I'm  well  paid  for  not  fingering  that  note !  Who 
would  not  be  honest  if  they  knew  the  sweets?     How  could 

460 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

he  know  my  name?    Is  he  really  more  than  man?     Keep  it? 
Will  I  not !" 


CHAPTER  LII. 

THE  old  attachment  was  revived,  Robinson  had  always 
a  great  regard  for  George,  and  after  nursing  and 
bringing  him  through  a  dangerous  illness  this  feeling  doubled. 
And  as  for  George,  the  man  who  had  brought  him  a  letter 
from  Susan  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  became  such  a  bene- 
factor in  his  eyes  that  he  thought  nothing  good  enough  for 
him.  In  a  very  few  days  George  was  about  again  and  on  his 
pony,  and  he  and  Robinson  and  Carlo  went  a  shepherding. 
One  or  two  bullocks  had  gone  to  Jericho  while  George  lay  ill, 
and  the  poor  fellow's  heart  was  sore  when  he  looked  at  his 
diminished  substance  and  lost  time.  Robinson  threw  himself 
heart  and  soul  into  the  business,  and  was  of  great  service  to 
George,  but  after  a  bit  he  found  it  a  dull  life. 

George  saw  this,  and  said  to  him,  "You  would  do  better 
in  a  town.  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  but  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you  will  turn  your  back  on  unlucky  George,  and  try 
the  paint-brush  in  Bathurst."  For  Robinson  had  told  him 
all  about  it,  and  painted  his  front-door. 

"Can't  afford  to  part  from  Honesty,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

George  breathed  again.  Robinson  was  a  great  comfort  to 
the  weak,  solitary,  and  now  desponding  man.  One  day  for  a 
change  they  had  a  thirty-mile  walk  to  see  a  farmer  that  had 
some  beasts  to  sell  a  great  bargain ;  he  was  going  to  boil 
them  down  if  he  could  not  find  a  customer.  They  found 
them  all  just  sold.    "Just  my  luck,"  said  George. 

They  came  home  another  way.  Returning  home.  George 
was  silent  and  depressed.  Robinson  was  silent,  but  appeared 
to  be  swelling  wuth  some  grand  idea.  Every  now  and  then 
he  shot  ahead  under  its  influence.  When  they  got  home  and 
were  seated  at  supper,  he  suddenly  put  this  question  to 
George,  "Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  gold  being  found  in  these 
parts?" — •"No,  never!" 

"What,  not  in  anv  part  of  this  country?" — "No,  never!" 

"Well,  that  is  odd !" 

461 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"1  am  afraid  it  is  a  very  bad  country  for  that." 

"Ay,  to  make  it  in,  but  not  to  find  it  in." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" — "George,"  said  the  other,  lower- 
ing his  voice  mysteriously,  "in  our  walk  to-day  we  passed 
places  that  brought  my  heart  into  my  mouth;  for  if  this  was 
only  California,  those  places  would  be  pockets  of  gold." 

"But  you  see  it  is  not  California,  but  Australia,  where  all 
the  world  knows  there  is  nothing  of  what  your  mind  is  run- 
ning on." 

"Don't  say  'knows ;'  say  'thinks.'  Has  it  ever  been 
searched  for  gold?" — "I'll  be  bound  it  has;  or  if  not,  with  so 
many  eyes  constantly  looking  on  every  foot  of  soil,  a  speck 
or  two  would  have  come  to  light," 

"One  would  think  so ;  but  it  is  astonishing  how  blind  folks 
are,  till  they  are  taught  how  to  look,  and  where  to  look. 
'Tis  the  mind  that  sees  things,  George,  not  the  eye." 

"Ah !"  said  George  with  a  sigh,  "this  chat  puts  me  in  mind 
of  'The  Grove.'  Do  you  mind  how  you  used  to  pester  every- 
body to  go  out  to  California?" — "Yes!  and  I  wish  we  were 
there  now." 

"And  all  your  talk  used  to  be  gold — gold — gold." 

"As  well  say  it  as  think  it." 

"That  is  true.  Well,  we  shall  be  very  busy  all  day  to- 
morrow, but  in  the  afternoon  dig  for  gold  an  hour  or  two — 
then  you  will  be  satisfied." — "But  it  is  no  use  digging  here; 
it  was  full  five-and-twenty  miles  from  here  the  likely-looking 
place." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  stop  me  at  the  place?" 

"Why?"  replied  Robinson  sourly,  "because  his  reverence 
did  so  snub  me  whenever  I  got  upon  that  favourite  topic,  that 
I  really  had  got  out  of  the  habit.  I  was  ashamed  to  say, 
'George,  let  us  stop  on  the  road  and  try  for  gold  with  our 
finger-nails.'     I  knew  I  should  only  get  laughed  at." 

"Well,"  said  George  sarcastically,  "since  the  gold-mine  is 
twenty-five  miles  ofif,  and  our  work  is  round  about  the  door, 
suppose  we  pen  sheep  to-morrow,  and  dig  for  gold  when 
there  is  nothing  better  to  be  done." 

Robinson  sighed.  Unbucolical  to  the  last  degree  was  the 
spirit  in  which  our  Bohemian  tended  the  flocks  next  morn- 
ing.    His  thoughts  were  deeper  than  the  soil.     And  every 

462 


i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

evening  up  came  the  old  topic.  Oh !  how  sick  George  got  of 
it.  At  last  one  night  he  said,  "My  lad,  I  should  like  to  tell 
you  a  story — but  I  suppose  I  shall  make  a  bungle  of  it ;  shan't 
cut  the  furrow  clean,  I  am  doubtful." — "Never  mind ; 
try !" 

"Well,  then.  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  an  old  chap 
that  had  heard  or  read  about  treasures  being  found  in  odd 
places,  a  pot  full  of  guineas  or  something ;  and  it  took  root  in 
his  heart,  till  nothing  would  serve  him  but  he  must  find  a  pot 
of  guineas  too.  He  used  to  poke  about  all  the  old  ruins 
grubbing  away,  and  would  have  taken  up  the  floor  of  the 
church,  but  the  church-wardens  would  not  have  it.  One 
morning  he  comes  down  and  says  to  his  wife,  Tt  is  all  right, 
old  woman ;  I've  found  the  treasure.'  'No,  have  you 
though  ?'  says  she.  'Yes,'  says  he,  'leastways,  it  is  as  good 
as  found ;  it  is  only  waiting  till  I've  had  my  breakfast,  and 
then  I'll  go  out  and  fetch  it  in.'  'La,  John,  but  how  did  you 
find  it?'  'It  was  revealed  to  me  in  a  dream,'  says  he,  as 
grave  as  a  judge.  'And  where  is  it?'  asks  the  old  woman. 
'Under  a  tree  in  our  own  orchard — no  farther,'  says  he.  'Oh, 
John !  how  long  you  are  at  breakfast  to-day !'  Lip  they  both 
got  and  into  the  orchard.  'Now,  which  tree  is  it  under?' 
John  he  scratches  his  head,  'Blest  if  I  know.'  'Why,  you 
old  ninny,'  says  the  mistress,  'didn't  you  take  the  trouble  to 
notice?'  'That  I  did,'  said  he;  'I  saw  plain  enough  which 
tree  it  was  in  my  dream,  but  now  they  muddle  it  all,  there 
are  so  many  of  'em.'  'Drat  your  stupid  old  head,'  says  she, 
'why  didn't  you  put  a  nick  on  the  right  one  at  the  time?'  " 

Robinson  burst  out  laughing.  George  chuckled.  "Oh," 
said  he,  "there  were  a  pair  of  them  for  wisdom,  you  may 
take  your  oath  of  that.  'Well,'  says  he,  'I  must  dig  till  I 
find  the  right  one.'  The  wife  she  loses  heart  at  this;  for 
there  was  eighty  apple-trees,  and  a  score  of  cherry-trees. 
'Mind  you  don't  cut  the  roots,'  says  she,  and  she  heaves  a 
sigh.  John  he  gives  them  bad  language,  root  and  branch. 
'What  signifies  cut  or  not  cut;  the  old  faggots — they  don't 
bear  me  a  bushel  of  fruit  the  whole  lot.  They  used  to  bear 
two  sacks  apiece  in  father's  time.  Drat  'em.'  'Well,  John,' 
says  the  old  woman,  smoothing  him  down,  'father  used  to 
give  them  a  deal  of  attention.'     *  'Taint  that !   'taint  that !' 

463 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

says  he  quick  and  spiteful-like;  'they  have  got  old  like  our- 
selves, and  good  for  firewood.'  Out  pickaxe  and  spade,  and 
digs  three  foot  deep  round  one,  and  finding  nothing  but 
mould,  goes  at  another,  makes  a  little  mound  all  round  him 
too — no  guinea-pot.  Well,  the  village  let  him  dig  three  or 
four  quiet  enough,  but  after  that  curiosity  was  awakened, 
and  while  John  was  digging,  and  that  was  all  day,  there  was 
mostly  seven  or  eight  watching  through  the  fence  and  pass- 
ing their  jests.  After  a  bit  a  fashion  came  up  of  flinging  a 
stone  or  two  at  John ;  then  John  he  brought  out  his  gun 
loaded  with  dust-shot  along  with  his  pick  and  spade,  and 
the  first  stone  came  he  fired  sharp  in  that  direction  and  then 
loaded  again.  So  they  took  that  hint,  and  John  dug  on  in 
peace  till  about  the  fourth  Sunday,  and  then  the  parson  had 
a  slap  at  him  in  church.  'Folks  were  not  to  heap  up  to  them- 
selves treasures  on  earth,'  was  all  his  discourse." 

"Well,  but,"  said  Robinson,  "this  one  was  only  heaping 
up  mould." — "So  it  seemed  when  he  had  dug  the  five-score 
holes,  for  no  pot  of  gold  didn't  come  to  light.  Then  the 
neighbours  called  the  orchard  'Jacobs'  Folly;'  his  name  was 
Jacobs — John  Jacobs.  'Now  then,  wife,'  says  he,  'suppose 
you  and  I  look  out  for  another  village  to  live  in,  for  their 
gibes  are  more  than  I  can  bear.'  Old  woman  begins  to  cry. 
'Been  here  so  long — brought  me  home  here,  John,  when  we 
were  first  married,  John,  and  I  was  a  comely  lass,  and  you 
the  smartest  young  man  I  ever  saw,  to  my  fancy  any  way; 
couldn't  sleep  or  eat  my  victuals  in  any  house  but  this.'  'Oh, 
couldn't  ye  ?  Well,  then,  we  must  stay ;  perhaps  it  will  blow 
over.'  'Like  everything  else,  John ;  but,  dear  John,  do  ye 
fill  in  those  holes ;  the  young  folk  come  far  and  wide  on 
Sundays  to  see  them.'  'Wife,  I  haven't  the  heart,'  says  he. 
'You  see,  when  I  was  digging  for  the  treasure  I  was  always 
a  going  to  find,  it  kept  my  heart  up ;  but  take  out  shovel  and 
fill  them  in,  I'd  as  lieve  dine  ofT  white  of  egg  on  a  Sunday.' 
So  for  six  blessed  months  the  heaps  were  out  in  the  heat  and 
frost,  till  the  end  of  February,  and  then,  when  the  weather 
broke,  the  old  man  takes  heart  and  fills  them  in,  and  the 
village  soon  forgot  'Jacobs'  Folly'  because  it  was  out  of 
sight.  Comes  April,  and  out  burst  the  trees.  'Wife,'  says 
he,  'our  bloom  is  richer  than  I  have  known  it  this  many  a 

464 


v 


11    IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

year,  it  is  richer  than  our  neighbours.'     Bloom  dies,  and  then 
out  come  about  a  milHon  Httle  green  things  quite  hard." 

"Ay!  ay!"  said  Robinson;  'T  see." — "Michaehnas-day  the 
old  trees  were  staggering,  and  the  branches  down  to  the 
ground  with  the  crop ;  thirty  shillings  on  every  tree,  one  with 
another ;  and  so  on  for  the  next  year,  and  the  next ;  some- 
times more,  sometimes  less,  according  to  the  year.  Trees 
were  old  and  wanted  a  change.  His  letting  in  the  air  to 
them,  and  turning  the  subsoil  up  to  the  frost  and  sun,  had 
renewed  their  youth.  So  by  that  he  learned  that  tillage  is 
the  way  to  get  treasure  from  the  earth.  Men  are  ungrate- 
ful at  times,  but  the  soil  is  never  ungrateful ;  it  always  makes 
a  return  for  the  pains  we  give  it." 

"Well,  George,"  said  Robinson,  "thank  you  for  your  story; 
it  is  a  very  good  one,  and  after  it  I'll  never  dig  for  gold  in  a 
garden.  But  now  suppose  a  bare  rock  or  an  old  river's  bed, 
or  a  mass  of  shingles  or  pipe-clay,  would  you  dig  or  manure 
them  for  crops?" — "Why,  of  course  not." 

"Well,  those  are  the  sort  of  places  in  which  nature  has 
planted  a  yellower  crop  and  a  richer  crop  than  tillage  ever 
produced.  And  I  believe  there  are  plumbs  of  gold  not  thirty 
miles  from  here  in  such  spots  waiting  only  to  be  dug  out." 
— "Well,  Tom,  I  have  wasted  a  parable,  that  is  all.  Good- 
night !  I  hope  to  sleep  and  be  ready  for  a  good  day's  work 
to-morrow.  You  shall  dream  of  digging  up  gold  here — if 
you  like." 

"I'll  never  speak  of  it  again,"  said  Robinson  doggedly. 

If  you  want  to  make  a  man  a  bad  companion,  interdict 
altogether  the  topic  that  happens  to  interest  him.  Robinson 
ceased  to  vent  his  chimera.  So  it  swelled  and  swelled  in  his 
heart,  and  he  became  silent,  absorbed,  absent,  and  out  of 
spirits.  "Ah !"  thought  George,  "poor  fellow,  he  is  very  dull. 
He  won't  stay  beside  me  much  longer." 

This  conviction  was  so  strong  that  he  hesitated  to  close 
with  an  advantageous  offer  that  came  to  him  from  his  friend, 
Mr.  Winchester.  That  gentleman  had  taken  a  lease  of  a  fine 
run  some  thirty  miles  from  George.  He  had  written  George 
that  he  was  to  go  and  look  at  it,  and  if  he  liked  it  better  than 
his  own  he  was  to  take  it.  Mr.  Winchester  could  make  no 
considerable  use  of  either  for  some  time  to  come. 

465 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

George  hesitated.  He  felt  himself  so  weak-handed  with 
only  Robinson,  who  might  leave  him,  and  a  shepherd  lad  he 
had  just  hired.  However,  his  hands  were  unexpectedly 
strengthened. 

One  day  as  the  two  friends  were  washing  a  sheep,  an  armed 
savage  suddenly  stood  before  them.  Robinson  dropped  the 
sheep  and  stood  on  his  defence,  but  George  cried  out,  "No ! 
no !  it  is  Jacky !  Why,  Jacky,  where  on  earth  have  you 
been?"  And  he  came  warmly  towards  him.  Jacky  fled  to  a 
small  eminence  and  made  warlike  preparations.  "You  stop 
you  a  good  while  and  I  speak.    Who  you?" 

"Who  am  I,  stupid?  Why,  who  should  I  be  but  George 
Fielding?" — "I  see  you  one  George  Fielding,  but  I  not  know 
you  dis  George  Fielding.  George  die.  I  see  him  die.  You 
alive.    You  please  you  call  dog  Carlo?    Carlo  wise  dog." 

"Well  I  never !     Hie  Carlo  !  Carlo  !" 

Up  came  Carlo  full  pelt.  George  patted  him,  and  Carlo 
wagged  his  tail  and  pranced  about  in  the  shape  of  a  reaping- 
hook.  Jacky  came  instantly  down,  showing  his  ivories,  and 
admitted  his  friend's  existence  on  the  word  of  the  dog, 
"Jacky  a  good  deal  glad  because  you  not  dead  now.  When 
black  fellow  die  he  never  live  any  more.  Black  fellow  stupid 
fellow,  I  tink  I  like  white  fellow  a  good  deal  bigger  than 
black  fellow.     Now  I  stay  with  you  a  good  while." 

George's  hands  thus  strengthened,  he  wrote  and  told  Mr. 
Winchester  he  would  go  to  the  new  ground,  which,  as  far  as 
he  could  remember,  was  very  good,  and  would  inspect  it, 
and  probably  make  the  change  with  thanks.  It  was  ar- 
ranged that  in  two  days'  time  the  three  friends  should  go 
together,  inspect  the  new  ground,  and  build  a  temporary  hut 
there. 

Meantime  Robinson  and  Jacky  made  great  friends.  Robin- 
son showed  him  one  or  two  sleight-of-hand  tricks  that 
stamped  him  at  once  a  superior  being  in  Jacky's  eyes,  and 
Jacky  showed  Robinson  a  thing  or  two.  He  threw  his 
boomerang  and  made  it  travel  a  couple  of  hundred  yards, 
and  return  and  hover  over  his  head  like  a  bird  and  settle  at 
his  feet ;  but  he  was  shy  of  throwing  his  spear.  "Keep  spear 
for  when  'um  angry,  not  throw  him  straight  now." 

"Don't  vou  believe  that,  Tom,"  said  George.    "Fact  is  the 

466 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

little  varmint  can't  hit  anything  with  'em.     Now  look  at  that^ 
piece  of  bark  leaning-  against  that  tree.     You  don't  hit  it. 
Come,  try,  Jacky."     Jacky  yawned  and  threw  a  spear  care- 
lessly.    It  went  close  by,  but  did  not  hit  it. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  so?"  said  George.  "I'd  stand  before 
him  and  his  spear  all  day  with  nothing  but  a  cricket-stump 
in  my  hand,  and  never  be  hit,  and  never  brag  neither." 
Jacky  showed  his  ivories.  "When  I  down  at  Sydney,  white 
man  put  up  a  little  wood  and  a  bit  of  white  money  for  Jack. 
Then  Jacky  throw  straight  a  good  deal." 

"Now  hark  to  that !  black  skin  or  white  skin,  'tis  all  the 
same ;  we  can't  do  our  best  till  we  are  paid  for  it.  Don't  you 
encourage  him,  Tom ;  I  won't  have  it." 

The  two  started  early  one  fine  morning  for  the  new  ground, 
distant  full  thirty  miles.  At  first  starting  Robinson  was  in 
high  glee ;  his  nature  delighted  in  change ;  but  George  was 
sad  and  silent.  Three  times  he  had  changed  his  ground  and 
always  for  the  better.  But  to  what  end?  These  starts  in 
early  morning  for  fresh  places  used  once  to  make  him  buoy- 
ant, but  not  now.  All  that  was  over.  He  persisted  dogged- 
ly, and  did  his  best  like  a  man,  but  in  his  secret  heart  not  one 
grain  of  hope  was  left.  Indeed  it  was  but  the  other  day  he 
had  written  to  Susan  and  told  her  it  was  not  possible  he 
could  make  a  thousand  pounds.  The  difficulties  were  too 
many,  and  then  his  losses  had  been  too  great.  And  he  told 
her  he  felt  it  was  scarcely  fair  to  keep  her  to  her  promise. 
"You  would  waste  all  your  youth,  Susan  dear,  waiting  for 
me."  And  he  told  her  how  he  loved  her  and  never  should 
love  another^  but  left  her  free. 

To  add  to  his  troubles,  he  was  scarcely  well  of  the  fever 
when  he  caught  a  touch  of  rheumatism ;  and  the  stalwart 
young  fellow  limped  along  by  Robinson's  side,  and  instead 
of  his  distancing  Jacky  as  he  used  in  better  days,  Jacky 
rattled  on  ahead,  and  having  got  on  the  trail  of  an  opossum, 
announced  his  intention  of  hunting  it  down  and  then  follow- 
ing the  human  trail.  "Me  catch  you  before  the  sun  go,  and 
bring  opossum — then  we  eat  a  good  deal."  And  off  glided 
Jacky  after  his  opossum. 

The  pair  plodded  and  limped  along  in  gloomy  silence,  for 
at   a   part   of   the    road   where   they    emerged    from   green 

467 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

meadows  on  rocks  and  broken  ground  Robinson's  tongue 
had  suddenly  ceased. 

They  plodded  on,  one  sad  and  stiff,  the  other  thoughtful. 
Any  one  meeting  the  pair  would  have  pitied  them.  Ill-suc- 
cess was  stamped  on  them.  Their  features  were  so  good, 
their  fortunes  so  unkind.  Their  clothes  were  sadly  worn, 
their  beards  neglected,  their  looks  thoughtful  and  sad.  The 
convert  to  honesty  stole  more  than  one  look  at  the  noble  figure 
that  limped  beside  him  and  the  handsome  face  in  which 
gentle  uncomplaining  sorrow  seemed  to  be  a  tenant  for  life; 
and  to  the  credit  of  our  nature  be  it  said  that  his  eyes  filled 
and  his  heart  yearned.  "Oh,  Honesty !"  said  he,  "you  are 
ill-paid  here.  I  have  been  well  paid  for  my  little  bit  of  you, 
but  here  is  a  life  of  honesty  and  a  life  of  ill-luck  and  bitter 
disappointment.  Poor  George !  poor  dear  George !  Leave 
you?  never  while  I  have  hands  to  work  and  a  brain  to  de- 
vise !" 

They  now  began  slowly  to  mount  a  gentle  slope  that 
ended  in  a  long  black  snake-like  hill.'  "When  we  get  to  that 
hill  we  shall  see  my  new  pasture,"  said  George.  "New  or 
old,  I  doubt  'twill  be  all  the  same."  And  he  sighed  and  re- 
lapsed into  silence. 

Meantime,  Jacky  had  killed  his  opossum,  and  was  now 
following  their  trail  at  an  easy  trot. 

Leaving  the  two  sad  ones  with  worn  clothes  and  heavy 
hearts  plodding  slowly  and  stiffly  up  the  long  rough  slope, 
our  story  runs  on  before,  and  gains  the  rocky  platform  they 
are  making  for  and  looks  both  ways — back  towards  the  sad 
ones  and  forward  over  a  grand  long  sweeping  valley.  This 
pasture  is  rich  in  proportion  as  it  recedes  from  this  huge 
backbone  of  rock  that  comes  from  the  stony  mountains  and 
pierces  and  divides  the  meadows  as  a  cape  the  sea.  In  the 
foreground,  the  grass  suffers  from  its  stern  neighbour,  is  cut 
up  here  and  there  by  the  channels  of  defunct  torrents,  and 
dotted  with  fragments  of  rock,  some  of  which  seem  to  have 
pierced  the  bosom  of  the  soil  from  below,  others  have  been 
detached  at  different  epochs  from  the  parent  rock  and  rolled 
into  the  valley ;  but  these  wounds  are  only  discovered  on  in- 
spection ;  at  a  general  glance  from  the  rocky  road  into  the 
dale  the  prospect  is  large,   rich,  and  laughing;  fairer  pas- 

468 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

tures  are  to  be  found  in  that  favoured  land,  but  this  sparkles 
at  you  like  an  emerald  roughly  set,  and,  where  the  backbone 
of  rock  gives  a  sudden  twist,  bursts  out  all  at  once  broad 
smiling  in  your  face — a  land  flowing  with  milk,  and  every 
bush  a  thousand  nosegays. 

At  the  angle  above  mentioned,  which  commanded  a  double 
view,  a  man  was  standing  watching  some  object  or  objects 
not  visible  to  his  three  companions ;  they  were  working  some 
yards  lower  down  by  the  side  of  a  rivulet  that  brawled  and 
bounded  down  the  hill.  Every  now  and  then  an  inquiry  was 
shouted  up  to  that  individual,  who  was  evidently  a  sort  of 
scout  or  sentinel.  At  last,  one  of  the  men  in  the  ravine 
came  up  and  bade  the  scout  go  down. 

"I'll  soon  tell  you  whether  we  shall  have  to  knock  off 
work."  And  he  turned  the  corner  and  disappeared. 

He  shaded  both  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  for  the  sun  was 
glaring.  About  a  mile  off  he  saw  two  men  coming  slowly 
up  by  a  zigzag  path  towards  the  very  point  where  he  stood. 
Presently  the  men  stopped  and  examined  the  prospect,  each 
in  his  own  way.  The  taller  one  took  a  wide  survey  of  the 
low  ground,  and  calling  his  companion  to  him,  appeared  to 
point  out  to  him  some  beauty  or  peculiarity  of  the  region. 
Our  scout  stepped  back  and  called  down  to  his  companions, 
"Shepherds !" 

He  then  strolled  back  to  his  post  with  no  particular 
anxiety.  Arrived  there,  his  uneasiness  seemed  to  revive.  The 
shorter  of  the  two  strangers  had  lagged  behind  his  com- 
rade, and  the  watcher  observed  that  he  was  carrying  on  a 
close  and  earnest  inspection  of  the  ground  in  detail.  He 
peered  into  the  hollows  and  loitered  in  every  ravine.  This 
gave  singular  offence  to  the  keen  eye  that  was  now  upon  him. 
Presently  he  was  seen  to  stop  and  call  his  taller  companion  to 
him,  and  point  with  great  earnestness  first  to  something  at 
their  feet,  then  to  the  backbone  of  rocks ;  and  it  so  happened 
by  mere  accident  that  his  finger  took  nearly  the  direction  of 
the  very  spot  where  the  observer  of  all  his  movements  stood. 
The  man  started  back  out  of  sight,  and  called  in  a  low  voice 
to  his  comrades,  "Come  here." 

They  came  straggling  up  with  troubled  and  lowering  faces. 
"Lie   down    and   watch   them,"   said   the   leader.      The   men 

469 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

stooped  and  crawled  forward  to  some  stunted  bushes,  behind 
which  they  lay  down  and  watched  in  silence  the  unconscious 
pair,  who  were  now  about  two  furlongs  distant.  The  shorter 
of  the  two  still  loitered  behind  his  companion,  and  inspected 
the  ground  with  particular  interest.  The  leader  of  the  band, 
who  went  by  the  name  of  Black  Will,  muttered  a  curse  upon 
his  inquisitiveness.  The  others  assented  all  but  one,  a  huge 
fellow  whom  the  others  addressed  as  Jem.  "Nonsense !" 
said  Jem ;  "dozens  pass  this  way  and  are  none  the  wiser." 

"Ay,"  replied  Black  Will,  "with  their  noses  in  the  air.  But 
that  is  a  notice-taking  fellow.  Look  at  him  with  his  eyes 
for  ever  on  the  rocks  or  in  the  gullies,  or — there,  if  he  is  not 
picking  up  a  stone  and  breaking  it!" 

"Ha !  ha !"  laughed  Jem  incredulously,  "how  many  thou- 
sand have  picked  up  stones  and  broke  them  and  all,  and  never 
know  what  we  know." 

"He  has  been  in  the  same  oven  as  we,"  retorted  the  other. 

Here  one  of  the  others  put  in  his  word.  "That  is  not  like- 
ly, captain ;  but  if  it  is  so,  there  are  no  two  ways.  A  secret 
is  no  secret  if  all  the  world  is  to  know  it." 

"You  remember  our  oath,  Jem,"  said  the  leader  sternly. 

"Why  should  I  forget  it  more  than  another?"  replied  the 
other  angrily. 

"Have  you  all  your  knives?"  asked  the  captain  gloomily. 
The  men  nodded  assent.  "Cross  them  with  me,  as  we  did 
when  we  took  our  oath  first." 

The  men  stretched  out  each  a  brawny  arm,  and  a  long 
sharp  knife,  so  that  all  the  points  came  together  in  a  focus ; 
and  this  action  suited  well  with  their  fierce  and  animal 
features,  their  long-neglected  beards,  their  matted  hair,  and 
their  gleaming  eyes.  It  looked  the  prologue  to  some  deed  of 
blood.  This  done,  at  another  word  from  their  ruffianly  leader 
they  turned  away  from  the  angle  in  the  rock  and  plunged 
hastily  down  the  ravine ;  but  they  had  scarcely  taken  thirty 
steps  when  they  suddenly  disappeared. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  small  stream  I  have  men- 
tioned was  a  cavern  of  irregular  shape  that  served  these  men 
for  a  habitation  and  place  of  concealment.  Nature  had  not 
done  all.  The  stone  was  soft,  and  the  natural  cavity  had  been 
enlarged   and  made  a  comfortable   retreat   enough   for  the 

470 


4 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

hardy  men  whose  home  it  was.  A  few  feet  from  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  on  one  side  grew  a  stout  bush  that  added  to  the 
shelter  and  the  conceahnent,  and  on  the  other  the  men  them- 
selves had  placed  two  or  three  huge  stones,  which,  from 
the  attitude  the  rogues  had  given  them,  appeared,  like  many 
others,  to  have  rolled  thither  years  ago  from  the  rock  above. 

In  this  retreat  the  whole  band  were  now  silently  couched, 
two  of  them  in  the  mouth  of  the  cavel  Black  Will  and  an- 
other lying  flat  on  their  stomachs  watching  the  angle  of  the 
road  for  the  two  men  who  must  pass  that  way,  and  listening 
for  every  sound.  Black  Will  was  carefully  and  quietly 
sharpening  his  knife  on  one  of  the  stones  and  casting  back 
every  now  and  then  a  meaning  glance  to  his  companions.  The 
pertinacity  with  which  he  held  to  his  idea  began  to  tell  on 
them,  and  they  sat  in  an  attitude  of  sullen  and  terrible  sus- 
picion. But  Jem  wore  a  look  of  contemptuous  incredulity. 
However  small  a  society  may  be,  if  it  is  a  human  one,  jeal- 
ousy shall  creep  in.  Jem  grudged  Black  Will  his  captaincy. 
Jem  was  intellectually  a  bit  of  a  brute;  he  was  a  stronger 
man  than  Will,  and  therefore  thought  it  hard  that  merely 
because  Will  was  a  keener  spirit.  Will  should  be.  over  him. 
Half  an  hour  passed  thus,  and  the  two  travellers  did  not 
make  their  appearance. 

"Not  even  coming  this  way  at  all,"  said  Jem. 

"Hush !"  replied  Will  sternly,  "hold  your  tongue.  They 
must  come  this  way,  and  they  can't  be  far  oflf.  Jem,  you 
can  crawl  out  and  see  where  they  are,  if  you  are  clever 
enough  to  keep  that  great  body  out  of  sight."  Jem  resented 
this  doubt  cast  upon  his  adroitness,  and  crawled  out  among 
the  bushes.  He  had  scarcely  got  twenty  yards  when  he 
halted  and  made  a  signal  that  the  men  were  in  sight.  Soon 
afterwards  he  came  back  with  less  precaution.  "They  arc 
sitting  eating  their  dinner  close  by,  just  on  the  sunny  side 
of  the  rock — shepherds,  as  I  told  you —  got  a  dog.  Go  your- 
self, if  you  don't  believe  me." 

The  leader  went  to  the  spot,  and  soon  after  returned  and 
said  quietly,  "Pals,  I  daresay  he  is  right.  Lie  still  till  they 
have  had  their  dinner ;  they  are  going  farther,  no  doubt." 

Soon  after  this  he  gave  a  hasty  signal  of  silence,  for 
George  and  Robinson  at  that  moment  came  round  the  cor- 

471 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

ner  of  the  rock  and  stood  on  the  road  not  fifty  yards  above 
them.  Here  they  paused  as  the  valley  burst  on  their  view, 
and  George  pointed  out  its  qualities  to  his  comrade.  "It  is 
not  first-rate,  Tom,  but  there  is  good  grass  in  patches,  and 
plenty  of  water." 

Robinson,  instead  of  replying  or  giving  his  mind  to  the 
prospect,  said  to  George,  "Why  where  is  he?" — "Who?" 

"The  man  that  I  saw  standing  at  this  corner  a  while  ago. 
He  came  round  this  way,  I'll  be  sworn." — "He  is  gone  away, 
I  suppose.    I  never  saw  any  one,  for  my  part." 

"I  did,  though.  Gone  away?  How  could  he  go  away? 
The  road  is  in  sight  for  miles,  and  not  a  creature  on  it.  He 
is  vanished." — "I  don't  see  him,  anyway,  Tom." 

"Of  course,  you  don't;  he  is  vanished  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth.  I  don't  like  gentlemen  that  vanish  into  the  bowels 
of  the  earth." — "How  suspicious  you  are !  Bushrangers 
again,  I  suppose.  They  are  always  running  in  your  mind — 
them  and  gold." 

"You  know  the  country,  George.  Here,  take  my  stick." 
And  he  handed  George  a  long  stick  with  a  heavy  iron  ferrule. 
"If  a  man  is  safe  here,  he  owes  it  to  himself,  not  to  his 
neighbour." 

"Then  why  do  you  give  me  your  weapon?"  said  George 
with  a  smile. — "I  haven't,"  was  the  reply.  "I  carry  my  sting 
out  of  sight  like  a  humble  bee,"  And  Mr.  Robinson  winked 
mysteriously,  and  the  process  seemed  to  relieve  his  mind  and 
soothe  his  suspicions.  He  then  fell  to  inspecting  the  rocks; 
and  when  George  pointed  out  to  him  the  broad  and  distant 
pasture,  he  said  in  an  absent  way,  "Yes ;"  and  turning  round, 
George  found  him  with  his  eyes  glued  to  the  ground  at  his 
feet,  and  his  mind  in  a  deep  reverie.  George  was  vexed, 
and  said  somewhat  warmly,  "Why,  Tom,  the  place  is  worth 
looking  at,  now  we  are  come  to  it,  surely." 

Robinson  made  no  direct  reply.  "George,"  said  he 
thoughtfully,  "how  far  have  you  got  towards  your  thousand 
pounds  ?" 

"Oh,  Tom !  don't  ask  me,  don't  remind  me !  How  can  I 
ever  make  it?  No  market  within  a  thousand  miles  of  any 
place  in  this  confounded  country !  Forced  to  boil  down  sheep 
into  tallow,  and  sell  them  for  the  price  of  a  wild  duck!    I 

472 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

have  left  my  Susan,  and  I  have  lost  her.  Oh,  why  did  you 
remind  me  ?" 

"So  much  for  the  farming  lay.  Don't  you  be  down- 
hearted; there's  better  cards  in  the  pack  than  the  five  of 
spades ;  and  the  farther  I  go  and  the  more  I  see  of  this  coun- 
try the  surer  I  am.  There  is  a  good  day  coming  for  you 
and  me.  Listen,  George.  When  I  shut  my  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment now  where  I  stand,  and  then  open  them,  I'm  in  Cali- 
fornia."— "Dreaming  ?" 

"No,  wide  awake — wider  than  you  are  now.  George,  look 
at  these  hills ;  you  could  not  tell  them  from  the  golden  range 
of  California.  But  that  is  not  all ;  when  you  look  into  them, 
you  find  they  are  made  of  the  same  stuff  too — granite,  mica, 
and  quartz.  Now,  don't  you  be  cross." — "No,  no!  why 
should  I  ?  Show  me,"  said  George,  trying  out  of  kind-heart- 
edness to  take  an  interest  in  this  subject  which  had  so  often 
wearied  him. 

"Well,  here  are  two  of  them ;  that  great  dark  bit  out  there 
is  mica,  and  all  this  that  runs  in  a  vein  like  is  quartz. 
Quartz  and  mica  are  the  natural  home  of  gold;  and  some 
gold  is  to  be  found  at  home  still,  but  the  main  of  it  has  been 
washed  out  and  scattered  like  seed  all  over  the  neighbouring 
clays.  You  see,  George,  the  world  is  a  thousand  times  older 
than  most  folks  think,  and  water  has  been  working  upon 
gold  thousands  and  thousands  of  years  before  ever  a  man 
stood  upon  the  earth,  ay,  or  a  dog  either.  Carlo,  for  as  wise 
as  you  look  squatting  out  there,  thinking  of  nothing  and  pre- 
tending to  be  thinking  of  everything." — "Well,  drop  gold," 
said  George,  "and  tell  me  what  this  is,"  and  he  handed 
Robinson  a  small  fossil. 

Robinson  eyed  it  with  wonder  and  interest.  "Where  on 
earth  did  you  find  this  ?"— "Hard  by ;  what  is  it  ?" 

"Plenty  of  these  in  California.  What  is  it?  Why,  I'll  tell 
you ;  it  is  a  pale  old  Joey." — "You  don't  say  so ;  looks  like  a 
shell." 

"Sit  down  a  moment,  George,  and  let  us  look  at  it.  He 
bids  me  drop  gold,  and  then  goes  and  shows  me  a  proof  of 
gold  that  never  deceived  us  out  there." — "You  are  mad. 
How  can  this  be  a  sign  of  gold  ?    I  tell  you  it  is  a  shell." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  where  these  things  are  found  among 

473 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

mica,  quartz,  and  granite,  there  gold  is  to  be  found,  if  men 
have  the  wit,  the  patience,  and  the  skill  to  look  for  it.  I 
can't  tell  you  why ;  the  laws  of  gold  puzzle  deeper  heads  than 
mine,  but  so  it  is.  I  seem  to  smell  gold  all  round  me  here." 
And  Robinson  flushed  all  over,  so  powerfully  did  the  great 
idea  of  gold,  seated  here  on  his  native  throne,  grapple  and 
agitate  his  mind. 

"Tom,"  said  the  other  doggedly,  "if  there  is  as  much  gold 
on  the  ground  of  New  South  Wales  as  will  make  me  a  wed- 
ding-ring, I'm  a  Dutchman ;"  and  he  got  up  calmly  and 
jerked  the  pale  old  Joey  a  tremendous  way  into  the  valley. 

This  action  put  Robinson's  blood  up.  "George,"  cried  he, 
springing  up  like  fire  and  bringing  his  foot  down  sharp  upon 
the  rocky  floor,  "if  I  don't  stand  upon  gold,  Fm  d d  !" 

And  a  wild  but  true  inspiration  seemed  to  be  upon  the  man ; 
a  stranger  could  hardly  have  helped  believing  him,  but 
George  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  this,  though  the  mania  had 
never  gone  quite  so  far.  He  said  quickly,  "Come,  let  us  go 
down  into  the  pasture." — "Not  I,"  replied  Robinson.  "Come, 
George,  prejudice  is  for  babies,  experience  for  men.  Here  is 
an  unknown  country  wnth  all  the  signs  of  gold  thicker  than 
ever.  I  have  got  a  calabash — stay  and  try  for  gold  in  this 
gully;  it  looks  to  me  just  like  the  mouth  of  a  purse." 

"Not  I."— "I  will,  then." 

"Why  not  ?  I  don't  think  you  will  find  anything  in  it,  but 
any  way  you  will  have  a  better  chance  when  I  am  not  by  to 
spoil  you.  Luck  is  all  against  me.  If  I  want  rain,  comes 
drought ;  if  I  want  sun,  look  for  a  deluge ;  if  there  is  money 
to  be  made  by  a  thing,  I'm  out  of  it ;  to  be  lost,  I'm  in  it ;  if  I 
loved  a  vixen,  she'd  drop  into  my  arms  like  a  medlar;  I  love 
an  angel,  and  that  is  why  I  shall  never  have  her,  never. 
From  a  game  of  marbles  to  the  game  of  life  I  never  had  a 
grain  of  luck  like  other  people.  Leave  me,  Tom,  and  try  if 
you  can  find  gold ;  you  will  have  a  chance,  my  poor  fellow,  if 
unlucky  George  is  not  aside  you." 

"Leave  you,  George !  not  if  I  know  it." 

"You  are  to  blame  if  you  don't.  Turn  your  back  on  me  as 
I  did  on  you  in  England." — "Never !  I'd  rather  not  find  gold 
than  part  with  honesty.  There,  I'm  coming — let  us  go — 
quick — come,  let  us  leave  here."     And  the  two  men  left  the 

474 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

road  and  turned  their  faces  and  their  steps  across  the  ravine. 

During  all  this  dialogue  the  men  in  the  cave  had  strained 
both  eyes  and  ears  to  comprehend  the  speakers.  The  dis- 
tance was  too  great  for  them  to  catch  all  the  words,  but  this 
much  was  clear  from  the  first,  that  one  of  the  men  wished  to 
stay  on  the  spot  for  some  purpose,  and  the  other  to  go  on ; 
but  presently  as  the  speakers  warmed,  a  word  traveled  down 
the  breeze  that  made  the  four  ruffians  start  and  turn  red  with 
surprise,  and  the  next  moment  darken  with  anger  and  appre- 
hension. The  word  came  again  and  again ;  they  all  heard  it 
— its  open  vowel  gave  it  a  sonorous  ring ;  it  seemed  to  fly 
farther  than  any  other  word  the  speaker  uttered,  or  perhaps 
when  he  came  to  it  he  spoke  it  louder  than  smaller  words, 
or  the  hearers'  ears  were  watching  for  it. 

The  men  interchanged  terrible  looks,  and  then  they 
grasped  their  knives  and  watched  their  leader's  eye  for  some 
deadly  signal.  Again  and  again  the  word  "g-o-l-d"  came 
like  an  ^olian  note  into  the  secret  cave,  and  each  time  eye 
sought  eye  and  read  the  unlucky  speaker's  death-warrant 
there.  But  when  George  prevailed  and  the  two  men  started 
for  the  valley,  the  men  in  the  cave  cast  uncertain  looks  on 
one  another,  and  he  we  have  called  Jem  drew  a  long  breath 
and  said  brutally,  yet  with  something  of  satisfaction,  "You 
have  saved  your  bacon  this  time."  The  voices  now  drew 
near  and  the  men  crouched  close,  for  George  and  Robinson 
passed  within  fifteen  yards  of  them.  They  were  talking  now 
about  matters  connected  with  George's  business,  for  Robin- 
son made  a  violent  effort  and  dropped  his  favourite  theme 
to  oblige  his  comrade.  They  passed  near  the  cave,  and  pre- 
sently their  backs  were  turned  to  it. 

"Good-bye,  my  lads,"  whispered  Jem.  "And  curse  you  for 
making  us  lose  a  good  half  an  hour,"  muttered  another  of 
the  gang.  The  words  were  scarce  out  of  his  mouth  before  a 
sudden  rustle  was  heard  and  there  was  Carlo :  he  had  pulled 
up  in  mid-career  and  stood  transfixed  with  astonishment,  lit- 
erally pointing  the  gang.  It  was  but  for  a  moment — he  did 
not  like  the  looks  of  the  men  at  all ;  he  gave  a  sharp  bark 
that  made  George  and  Robinson  turn  quickly  round,  and  then 
he  went  on  hunting. 

"A  kangaroo  1"  shouted  Robinson ;  "it  must  have  got  up 

475 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

near  that  bush ;  come  and  look.  If  it  is,  we  will  hunt  it 
down." 

George  turned  back  with  him,  but  on  reflection  he  said, 
"No !  Tom,  we  have  a  long  road  to  go ;  let  us  keep  on,  if  you 
please;"  and  they  once  more  turned  their  backs  to  the  cave, 
whistled  Carlo,  and  stepped  briskly  out  towards  the  valley. 
A  few  yards  before  them  was  the  brook  I  have  already  no- 
ticed :  it  was  about  three  yards  broad  at  this  spot.  However, 
Robinson,  who  was  determined  not  to  make  George  lose  any 
more  time,  took  the  lead,  and,  giving  himself  the  benefit  of  a 
run,  cleared  it  like  a  buck ;  but  as  he  was  in  the  air  his  eye 
caught  some  object  on  this  side  the  brook,  and  making  a  little 
circle  on  the  other  side,  he  came  back  with  ludicrous  precipi- 
tancy, and  jumping  short,  landed  with  one  foot  on  shore  and 
one  in  the  stream.     George  burst  out  laughing. 

"Do  you  see  this?"  cried  Robinson. — "Yes;  somebody  has 
been  digging  a  hole  here,"  said  George  very  coolly. 

"Come  higher  up,"  cried  Robinson,  all  in  a  flutter.  "Do 
you  see  this?" — "Yes;  it  is  another  hole." 

"It  is:  do  you  see  this  wet  too?" — "I  see  there  has  been 
some  water  spilt  by  the  brook-side." 

"What  kind  of  work  has  been  done  here  ?  Have  they  been 
digging  potatoes,  farmer?" — "Don't  be  foolish,  Tom." 

"Is  it  any  kind  of  work  you  know?  Here  is  another 
trench  dug." — "No!  it  is  nothing  in  my  way,  that  is  the 
truth." 

"But  it  is  work  the  signs  of  which  I  know  as  well  as  you 
know  a  ploughed  field  from  a  turnpike-road." — "Why,  what 
is  it,  then  ?" 

"It  is  gold- washing." — "You  don't  say  so,  Tom?" 

"This  is  gold-washing  as  beginners  practise  it  in  California 
and  Mexico  and  Peru,  and  wherever  gold-dust  is  found.  They 
have  been  working  with  a  pan ;  they  haven't  got  such  a 
thing  as  a  cradle  in  this  country.  Come  lower  down ;  this 
was  yesterday's  work;  let  us  find  to-day's." 

The  two  men  now  ran  down  the  stream  busy  as  dogs  hunt- 
ing an  otter.  A  little  lower  down  they  found  both  banks  of 
the  stream  pitted  with  holes  about  two  feet  deep,  and  the 
sides  drenched  with  water  from  it. 

"Well,  if  it  is  so,  you  need  not  look  so  pale     Why,  dear  me, 

476 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

how  pale  you  are,  Tom!" — "You  would  be  pale,"  gasped 
Tom,"  "If  you  could  see  what  a  day  this  is  for  you  and  me, 
ay!  and  for  all  the  world,  old  England  especially.  George, 
in  a  month  there  will  be  five  thousand  men  working  round 
this  little  spot.  Ay !  come,"  cried  he,  shouting  wildly  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  "there  is  plenty  for  all.  Gold  !  gold  !  gold  ! 
I  have  found  it.  I,  Tom  Robinson,  I've  found  it,  and  I 
grudge  it  to  no  man.  I,  a  thief  that  was,  make  a  present  of 
it  to  its  rightful  owner,  and  that  is  all  the  world.  Here! 
gold!  gold!  gold!" 

Though  George  hardly  understood  his  companion's  words, 
he  was  carried  away  by  the  torrent  of  his  enthusiasm,  and 
even  as  Robinson  spoke  his  cheeks  in  turn  flushed  and  his 
eyes  flashed,  and  he  grasped  his  friend's  hands  warmly,  and 
cried,  "Gold  !  gold  !  blessings  on  it  if  it  takes  me  to  Susan ; 
gold!  gold!" 

The  poor  fellow's  triumph  and  friendly  exultation  lasted 
but  a  moment ;  the  words  were  scarce  out  of  Robinson's 
mouth,  when  to  his  surprise  George  started  from  him,  turned 
very  pale,  but  at  the  same  time  lifted  his  iron-shed  stick  high 
in  the  air  and  clenched  his  teeth  with  desperate  resolution. 
Four  men  with  shaggy  beards  and  wild  faces  and  murderous 
eyes  were  literally  upon  them,  each  with  a  long  glittering 
knife  raised  in  the  air. 

At  that  fearful  moment  George  learned  the  value  of  a 
friend  that  had  seen  adventure  and  crime.  Rapid  and  fierce 
and  unexpected  as  the  attack  was,  Robinson  was  not  caught 
off  his  guard.  His  hand  went  like  lightning  into  his  bosom, 
and  the  assailants  in  the  very  act  of  striking  were  met  in  the 
face  by  the  long  glistening  barrels  of  a  rifle-revolver,  while 
the  cool  wicked  eye  behind  it  showed  them  nothing  was  to 
be  hoped  in  that  quarter  from  flurry,  or  haste,  or  indecision. 

The  two  men  nearest  the  revolver  started  back,  the  other 
two  neither  recoiled  nor  advanced,  but  merely  hung  fire. 
George  made  a  movement  to  throw  himself  upon  them ;  but 
Robinson  seized  him  fiercely  by  the  arm.  He  said  steadily 
but  sternly,  "Keep  cool,  young  man — no  running  among  their 
knives  while  they  are  four.  Strike  across  me,  and  I  shall 
guard  you  till  we  have  thinned  'em." 

"Will  you?"  said  Black  Will;  "here,  pals!" 

477 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  four  assailants  came  together  Hke  a  fan  for  a  moment 
and  took  a  whisper  from  their  leader.  They  then  spread  out 
like  a  fan  and  began  to  encircle  their  antagonists  so  as  to 
attack  on  both  sides  at  once. 

"Back  to  the  water,  George,"  cried  Robinson  quickly,  "to 
the  broad  part  here."  Robinson  calculated  that  the  stream 
would  protect  his  rear,  and  that  safe,  he  was  content  to  wait 
and  profit  by  the  slightest  error  of  his  numerous  assailants. 
This,  however,  was  to  a  certain  degree  a  miscalculation,  for 
the  huge  ruffian  we  have  called  Jem  sprang  boldly  across 
the  stream  higher  up,  and  prepared  to  attack  the  men  behind 
the  moment  they  should  be  engaged  with  his  comrades.  The 
others  no  sooner  saw  him  in  position  than  they  rushed  des- 
perately upon  George  and  Robinson  in  the  form  of  a  cres- 
cent, and  as  they  came  on  Jem  came  flying  knife  in  hand  to 
plunge  it  into  Robinson's  back.  As  the  front  assailants 
neared  them,  true  to  his  promise,  Robinson  fired  across 
George,  and  the  outside  man  received  a  bullet  in  his  should- 
er-blade, and  turning  round  like  a  top,  fell  upon  his  knees. 
Unluckily  George  wasted  a  blow  at  this  man  which  sung 
idly  over  him,  he  dropping  his  head  and  losing  his  knife  and 
his  powers  at  the  very  moment.  By  this  means  Robinson 
the  moment  he  had  fired  his  pistol  had  no  less  than  three 
assailants  ;  one  of  these  George  struck  behind  the  neck  so  furi- 
ously with  a  back-handed  stroke  of  his  iron-shod  stick  that 
he  fell  senseless  at  Robinson's  feet.  The  other,  met  in  front 
by  the  revolver,  recoiled,  but  kept  Robinson  at  bay  while 
Jem  sprang  on  him  from  the  rear.  This  attack  was  the  most 
dangerous  of  all ;  in  fact,  neither  Robinson  nor  George  had 
time  to  defend  themselves  against  him,  even  if  they  had  seen 
him,  which  they  did  not.  Now  as  Jem  was  in  the  very  act 
of  making  his  spring  from  the  other  side  of  the  brook,  a 
spear  glanced  like  a  streak  of  light  past  the  principal  com- 
batants and  pierced  Jem  through  and  through  the  fleshy  part 
of  the  thigh,  and  there  stood  Jacky  at  forty  yards'  distance, 
with  the  hand  still  raised  from  which  the  spear  had  flown, 
and  his  emu-like  eye  glittering  with  the  light  of  battle. 

Jem,  instead  of  bounding  clear  over  the  stream,  fell  heavily 
into  the  middle  of  it,  and  lay  writhing  and  floundering  at 
George's  mercy,  who,  turning  in  alarm  at  the  sound,  stood 

478 


Jl 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

over  him  with  his  long  deadly  staff  whirling  and  swinging 
round  his  head  in  the  air,  while  Robinson  placed  one  foot 
firmly  on  the  stunned  man's  right  arm  and  threatened  the 
leader,  Black  Will,  with  his  pistol,  and  at  the  same  moment 
with  a  wild  and  piercing  yell  Jacky  came  down  in  leaps  like 
a  kangaroo,  his  tomahawk  flourished  over  his  head,  his  fea- 
tures entirely  changed,  and  the  thirst  of  blood  written  upon 
every  inch  of  him.  Black  Will  was  preparing  to  run  away 
and  leave  his  wounded  companions,  but  at  sight  of  the  fleet 
savage  he  stood  still  and  roared  out  for  mercy. — "Quarter! 
quarter!"  cried  Black  Will. — ''Down  on  your  knees!"  cried 
Robinson  in  a  terrible  voice. 

The  man  fell  on  his  knees,  and  in  that  posture  Jacky  would 
certainly  have  knocked  out  his  brains,  but  that  Robinson 
pointed  the  pistol  at  his  head  and  forbade  him ;  and  Carlo, 
who  had  arrived  hastily  at  the  sound  of  battle  in  great  ex- 
citement, but  not  with  clear  ideas,  seeing  Jacky,  whom  he 
always  looked  on  as  a  wald  animal,  opposed  in  some  way  to 
Robinson,  seized  him  directly  by  the  leg  from  behind  and 
held  him  howling  in  a  vice.  "Hold  your  cursed  noise,  all  of 
you,"  roared  Robinson.     "D'ye  ask  quarter?" 

"Quarter!"  cried  Black  Bill.  "Quarter!"  gurgled  Jem. 
"Quarter  I"  echoed  more  faintly  the  wounded  man.  The  other 
was  insensible. 

"Then  throw  me  your  knives,"     The  men  hesitated. 

"Throw  me  them  this  instant  or "     They  threw  down 

their  knives. 

"George,  take  them  and  tie  them  up  in  your  wipe." 
George  took  the  knives  and  tied  them  up. 

"Now  pull  that  big  brute  out  of  the  water  or  he'll  drown 
himself."  George  and  Jacky  pulled  Jem  out  of  the  water 
with  the  spear  sticking  in  him ;  the  water  was  discoloured 
with  his  blood. 

"Pull  the  spear  out  of  him !"  George  pulled  and  Jem 
roared  with  pain,  but  the  spear-head  would  not  come  back 
through  the  wound ;  then  Jacky  came  up  and  broke  the  light 
shaft  off  close  to  the  skin,  and  grasping  the  head,  drew  the 
remainder  through  the  wound  forward,  and  grinned  with  a 
sense  of  superior  wisdom. 

By  this  time  the  man  whom  George  had  felled  sat  up  on 

479 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

his  beam-ends,  winking  and  blinking  and  confused  like  a 
great  owl  at  sunrise. 

Then  Robinson,  who  had  never  lost  his  presence  of  mind, 
and  had  now  recovered  his  sang-froid,  made  all  four  captives 
sit  round  together  on  the  ground  in  one  little  lot,  "while  I 
show  you  the  error  of  your  ways,"  said  he.  "I  could  forgive 
a  rascal,  but  I  hate  a  fool.  You  thought  to  keep  such  a 
secret  as  this  all  to  yourselves — you  dunces — the  very  birds 
in  the  air  would  carry  it ;  it  never  was  kept  secret  in  any 
land,  and  never  will.  And  you  would  spill  blood  sooner  than 
your  betters  should  know  it,  ye  ninny-cum-poops !  What  the 
worse  are  you  for  our  knowing  it?  If  a  thousand  knew  it 
to-day,  would  that  lower  the  price  of  gold  a  penny  an  ounce  ? 
No!  All  the  harm  they  could  do  you  would  be  this,  that 
some  of  them  would  show  you  where  it  lies  thickest,  and  then 
you'd  profit  by  it.  You  had  better  tie  that  leg  of  yours  up ; 
you  have  lost  blood  enough,  I  should  say,  by  the  look  of  you. 
Haven't  you  got  a  wipe?  Here,  take  mine — you  deserve  it, 
don't  you  ?  No  man's  luck  hurts  his  neighbour  at  this  work. 
How  clever  you  were!  you  have  just  pitched  on  the  unlikeli- 
€st  place  in  the  whole  gully,  and  you  wanted  to  kill  the  man 
that  would  have  taught  you  which  are  the  likelier  ones.  I 
shall  find  ten  times  as  much  gold  before  the  sun  sets  as  you 
will  find  in  a  week  by  the  side  of  that  stream.  Why,  it  hasn't 
been  running  above  a  thousand  years  or  two,  I  should  say, 
by  the  look  of  it ;  you  have  got  plenty  to  learn,  you  bloody- 
minded  green-horns !  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  contin- 
ued Robinson,  getting  angry  about  it,  "since  you  are  for  keep- 
ing dark  what  little  you  know,  I'll  keep  you  dark ;  and  in  ten 
minutes  my  pal  here  and  the  very  nigger  shall  know  more 
about  gold-finding  than  you  know ;  so  be  off,  for  I  am  going 
to  work.     Come,  march  !" 

"Where  are  we  to  go,  mate?"  said  the  leader  sullenly. 

"Do  you  see  that  ridge  about  three  miles  west?  Well,  if 
we  catch  you  on  this  side  of  it,  we  will  hang  you  like  wild 
cats.  On  the  other  side  of  it  do  what  you  like,  and  try  all 
you  know ;  but  this  gully  belongs  to  us  now.  You  wanted  to 
take  something  from  us  that  did  not  belong  to  you — our 
blood — so  now  we  take  something  from  you  that  didn't  belong 
to  us  a  minute  or  two  ago.     Come,  mizzle,  and  no  more 

480 


■V 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


words,  or "  and  he  pointed  the  tail  of  his  discourse  with 

his  revolver. 

The  men  rose,  and  with  sullen  rueful  downcast  looks 
moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  boundary ;  but  one  remained 
behind — the  man  was  Jem. 

"Well?'' — "Captain,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  join  in  with 
you !" 

"What  for?" — "Well,  captain,  you've  lent  me  your  wipe, 
and  I  think  a  deal  of  it,  for  it's  what  I  did  not  deserve;  but 
that  is  not  all.  You  are  the  best  man,  and  I  like  to  be  under 
the  best  man  if  I  must  be  under  anybody." 

Robinson  hesitated  a  moment.  "Come  here,"  said  he, 
The  man  came  and  fronted  him.  "Look  me  in  the  face !  now 
give  me  your  hand — quick,  no  thinking  about  how!"  The 
man  gave  him  his  hand  readily.  Robinson  looked  into  his 
eyes.     "What  is  your  name?" — "J^m." 

"Jem,  we  take  you  on  trial." 

Jem's  late  companions,  who  perfectly  comprehended  what 
was  passing,  turned  and  hooted  the  deserter ;  Jem,  whose 
ideas  of  repartee  were  primitive,  turned  and  hooted  them  in 
reply. 

While  the  men  were  retreating,  Robinson  walked  thought- 
fully with  his  hands  behind  him  backwards  and  forwards,  like 
a  great  admiral  on  his  quarter-deck — enemy  to  leeward. 
Every  eye  was  upon  him,  and  watched  him  in  respectful  in- 
quiring silence.  "Knowledge  is  power;"  this  was  the  man 
now — the  rest  children. 

"What  tools  have  you?" — "There  is  a  spade  and  trowel  in 
that  bush,  captain." 

"Fetch  them,  George.     Hadn't  you  a  pan?" 

"No,  captain;  we  used  a  calabash:  he  will  find  it  lower 
down." 

George  after  a  little  search  found  all  these  objects,  and 
brought  them  back. 

"Now,"  cried  Robinson,  "these  greenhorns  have  been 
washing  in  a  stream  that  runs  now,  but  perhaps  in  the  days 
of  Noah  was  not  a  river  at  all ;  but  you  look  at  the  old  bed 
of  a  stream  down  out  there :  that  was  a  much  stronger  stream 
than  this  in  its  day,  and  it  ran  for  more  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand years  before  it  dried  up." 

'^  481 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"How  can  you  tell  that?"  said  George,  resuming  some  of 
his  incredulity. 

"Look  at  those  monstrous  stones  in  it  here,  there,  and 
everywhere.  It  has  been  a  powerful  stream  to  carry  such 
masses  with  it  as  that,  and  it  has  been  running  many  thousand 
years,  for  see  how  deep  it  has  eaten  into  its  rocky  sides  here 
and  there.  That  was  a  river,  my  lads,  and  washed  gold  down 
for  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  before  ever  Adam  stood 
on  the  earth."  The  men  gave  a  hurrah,  and  George  and 
Jacky  prepared  to  run  and  find  the  treasure.  "Stop,"  cried 
Robinson,  "you  are  not  at  the  gold  yet.  Can  you  tell  in  what 
parts  of  the  channel  it  lies  thick,  and  where  there  isn't  enough 
to  pay  the  labour  of  washing  it  ?  Well,  I  can.  Look  at  that 
bend  where  the  round  pebbles  are  collected  so;  there  was  a 
strong  eddy  there.  Well,  under  the  ridge  of  that  eddy  is 
ten  times  as  much  gold  lying  as  in  the  level  parts.  Stop  a  bit 
again.  Do  you  know  how  deep  or  how  shallow  it  lies?  do 
you  think  you  can  find  it  by  the  eye?  Do  you  know  what 
clays  it  sinks  through  as  if  they  were  a  sieve,  and  what  stops 
it  like  an  iron  door?  Your  quickest  way  is  to  take  Captain 
Robinson's  time — that  is  now." 

He  snatched  the  spade,  and  giving  full  vent  to  the  ardour 
he  had  so  long  suppressed  with  difficulty,  plunged  down  a 
little  declivity  that  led  to  the  ancient  stream^  and  drove  his 
spade  into  its  shingle,  the  debris  of  centuries  of  centuries. 
George  sprang  after  him,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  hope  and 
agitation;  the  black  followed  in  wonder  and  excitement,  and 
the  wounded  Jem  limped  last,  and,  unable  through  weakness 
to  work,  seated  himself  with  glowing  eyes  upon  that  ancient 
river's  bank. — "Away  with  all  this  gravel  and  shingle — these 
are  all  newcomers — the  real  bed  of  the  stream  is  below  all 
this,  and  we  must  get  down  to  that." 

Trowel  and  spade  and  tomahawk  went  furiously  to  work, 
and  soon  cleared  away  the  gravel  from  a  surface  of  three  or 
four  feet ;  beneath  this  they  found  a  bed  of  grey  clay.  "Let 
us  wash  that,  captain,"  said  Jem  eagerly. — "No,  Jem,"  was 
the  reply ;  "that  is  the  way  the  novices  waste  their  time. 
This  grey  clay  is  porous,  too  porous  to  hold  gold — we  must 
go  deeper." 

Tomahawk,  spade,  and  trowel  went  furiously  to  work  again. 

482 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEx\D 

"Give  me  the  spade,"  said  George,  and  he  dug  and  shov- 
elled out  with  herculean  strength  and  amazing  ardour ;  his 
rheumatism  was  gone,  and  nerves  came  back  from  that  very 
hour. 

"Here  is  a  white  clay." 

"Let  me  see  it.  Pipe-clay !  go  no  deeper,  George ;  if  you 
were  to  dig  a  hundred  feet  you  would  not  find  an  ounce  of 
gold  below  that." 

George  rested  on  his  spade.  "What  are  we  to  do,  then? 
Try  somewhere  else?" — "Not  till  we  have  tried  here 
first." 

"But  you  say  there  is  nothing  below  this  pipe-clay." 

"No  more  there  is." 

"Well,  then." — "But  I  don't  say  there  is  nothing  above 
it!  !  !" 

"Well,  but  there  is  nothing  much  above  it  except  the  grey, 
without  'tis  this  small  streak  of  brownish  clay,  but  that  is  not 
an  inch  thick." 

"George !  in  that  inch  lies  all  the  gold  we  are  likely  to  find ; 
it  is  not  there,  we  have  only  tO'  go  elsewhere.  Now  while  I 
get  water,  you  stick  your  spade  in  and  cut  the  brown  clay 
away  from  the  white  it  lies  on.  Don't  leave  a  spot  of  the 
brown  sticking  to  the  white — the  lower  part  of  the  brown  is 
the  likeliest." 

A  shower  having  fallen  the  day  before,  Robinson  found 
water  in  a  hole  not  far  distant.  He  filled  his  calabash  and 
returned ;  meantime  George  and  Jacky  had  got  together  near- 
ly a  barrowful  of  the  brown,  or  rather  chocolate-coloured 
clay,  mixed  slightly  with  the  upper  and  lower  strata,  the  grey 
and  white. 

"I  want  yon  calabash,  and  George's  as  well."  Robinson 
filled  George's  calabash  two-thirds  full  of  the  stuff,  and  pour- 
ing some  water  upon  it,  said  good-naturedly  to  Jem,  "There, 
you  may  do  the  first  washing  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you,  captain,"  said  Jem,  who  proceeded  instantly 
to  stir  and  dissolve  the  clay  and  pour  it  carefully  away  as  it 
dissolved.  Jacky  was  sent  for  more  water,  and  this,  when 
used  as  described,  had  left  the  clay  reduced  to  about  one- 
sixth  of  its  original  bulk. 

"Now,  captain,"  cried  Jem  in  great  excitement. 

483 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"No,  it's  not  captain  yet,"  said  Robinson ;  "is  that  the  way 
you  do  pan-washing?" 

He  then  took  the  calabash  from  Jem,  and  gave  him  Jacky's 
calabash  two-thirds  full  of  clay  to  treat  like  the  other,  and 
this  being  done,  he  emptied  the  dry  remains  of  one  calabash 
into  the  other,  and  gave  Jem  a  third  lot  to  treat  likewise.  This 
done,  you  will  observe  he  had  in  one  calabash  the  results  of 
three  first  washings ;  but  now  he  trusted  Jem  no  longer.  He 
took  the  calabash  and  said,  "You  look  faint,  you  are  not  fit 
to  work ;  besides,  you  have  not  got  the  right  twist  of  the  hand 
yet,  my  lad.     Pour  for  me,  George." 

Robinson  stirred  and  began  to  dissolve  the  three  remain- 
ders, and  every  now  and  then  with  an  artful  turn  of  the  hand 
he  sent  a  portion  of  the  muddy  liquid  out  of  the  vessel.  At 
the  end  of  this  washing  there  remained  scarce  more  than  a 
good  handful  of  clay  at  the  bottom.  More  water  was  poured 
on  this.  "Now,"  said  Robinson,  "we  shall  know  this  time, 
and  if  you  see  but  one  spot  of  yellow  amongst  it,  we  are  all 
gentlemen  and  men  of  fortune." 

He  dissolved  the  clay,  and  twisted  and  turned  the  vessel 
with  great  dexterity,  and  presently  the  whole  of  the  clay  was 
liquefied. 

"Now,"  said  Robinson,  "all  your  eyes  upon  it,  and  if  I 
spill  anything  I  ought  to  keep,  you  tell  me."  He  said  this 
conceitedly,  but  with  evident  agitation.  He  was  now  pour- 
ing away  the  dirty  water  with  the  utmost  care,  so  that  any- 
thing, however  small,  that  might  be  heavier  than  clay  should 
remain  behind.  Presently  he  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
He  feared  to  decide  so  great  a  question :  it  was  but  for  a 
moment ;  he  began  again  to  pour  the  dirty  water  away  very 
slowly  and  carefully.  Every  eye  was  diving  into  the  vessel. 
There  was  a  dead  silence !  Robinson  poured  with  great  care. 
There  was  now  little  more  than  a  wineglassful  left. 

Dead  Silence! 

Suddenly  a  tremendous  cry  broke  from  all  these  silent  fig- 
ures at  the  same  instant.  A  cry !  it  was  a  yell.  I  don't 
know  what  to  compare  it  to ;  but  imagine  that  a  score  of 
wolves  had  hunted  a  horse  for  two  centuries  up  and  down, 
round  and  round,  sometimes  losing  a  yard,  sometimes  gain- 
ing one  on  him,  and  at  last,  after  a  thousand  disappointments 

484 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

and  fierce  alternations  of  hope  and  despair,  the  horse  had 
suddenly  stumbled  and  the  wild  gluttons  had  pounced  on  him 
at  last.  Such  a  fierce  yell  of  triumph  burst  from  four  human 
bosoms  now. 

"Hurrah !  we  are  the  greatest  men  above  ground.  If  a 
hundred  emperors  and  kings  died  to-day,  their  places  could 
be  filled  to-morrow ;  but  the  world  could  not  do  without  us 
and  our  find.  We  are  gentlemen — we  are  noblemen — we  are 
whatever  we  like  to  be.     Hurrah!"  cried  Robinson. 

"Hurrah!"  cried  George;  "I  see  my  Susan's  eyes  in  you, 
you  beauty." 

"Hurrah !"  whined  Jem  feebly ;  "let  me  see  how  much 
there  is,"  and  clutching  the  calabash,  he  fainted  at  that  mo- 
ment from  loss  of  blood,  and  fell  forward  insensible,  his 
face  in  the  vessel  that  held  the  gold,  and  his  hands  grasp- 
ing so  tight  that  great  force  had  to  be  used  to  separate 
them. 

They  lifted  Jem  and  set  him  up  again,  and  sprinkled  water 
in  his  face.  The  man's  thick  lip  was  cut  by  the  side  of  the 
vessel,  and  more  than  one  drop  of  blood  had  trickled  down 
its  sides  and  mingled  with  the  gold-dust. 

No  comment  was  made  on  this  at  the  time.  They  were  so 
busy. 

"There,  he's  coming  to,  and  we've  no  time  to  waste  nurs- 
ing the  sick.  Work!"  and  they  sprang  up  on  to  the  work 
again. 

It  was  not  what  you  have  seen  pass  for  work  in  Europe, 
it  was  men  working  themselves  for  once  as  they  make  horses 
work  for  ever.  Work?  It  was  battle;  it  was  humanity 
fighting  and  struggling  with  Nature  for  her  prime  treasure 
(so  esteemed).  How  they  dug  and  scraped,  and  fought 
tooth,  and  spade,  and  nail,  and  trowel,  and  tomahawk  for 
gold!  Their  shirts  were  wet  through  with  sweat,  yet  they 
felt  no  fatigue.  Their  trousers  were  sheets  of  clay,  yet  they 
suffered  no  sense  of  dirt.  The  wounded  man  recovered  a 
portion  of  his  strength,  and,  thirsting  for  gold,  brought  feeble 
hands  but  indomitable  ardour  to  the  great  cause.  They  dug, 
they  scraped,  they  bowed  their  backs,  and  wrought  with  fury 
and  inspiration  unparalleled ;  and  when  the  sun  began  to  de- 
cline behind  the  hills,  these  four  human  mutes  felt  injured. 

485 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

They  lifted  their  eyes  a  moment  from  the  ground,  and  cast 
a  fretful  look  at  the  great  tranquil  luminary. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  set  this  afternoon  the  same  as 
usual,  when  we  need  your  services  so?" 

Would  you  know  why  that  wolfish  yell  of  triumph  ?  Would 
you  see  what  sight  so  electrified  those  gloating  eyes  and  pant- 
ing bosoms  ?  Would  you  realise  that  discovery  which  in  six 
months  peopled  that  barren  spot  with  thousands  of  men  from 
all  the  civilised  tribes  upon  earth,  and  in  a  few  years  must 
and  will  make  despised  Australia  a  queen  among  the  nations — 
nations  who  must  and  will  come  with  the  best  thing  they  have, 
wealth,  talent,  cunning,  song,  pencil,  pen,  tongue,  arm,  and 
lay  them  all  at  her  feet  for  this  one  thing? 

Would  you  behold  this  great  discovery  the  same  in  ap- 
pearance and  magnitude  as  it  met  the  eyes  of  the  first  discov- 
erers, picked  with  a  knife  from  the  bottom  of  a  calabash,  sep- 
arated at  last  by  human  art  and  gravity's  great  law  from  the 
meaner  dust  it  had  lurked  in  for  a  million  years — 

Then  turn  your  eyes  hither,  for  here  it  is. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


MR.  MEADOWS  despatched  his  work  in  Shropshire 
twice  as  fast  as  he  had  calculated,  and  returned  home 
with  two  forces  battling  inside  him — love  and  prudence. 
The  battle  was  decided  for  him. 

William  Fielding's  honest  but  awkward  interference  had 
raised  in  Susan  Merton  a  desire  to  separate  her  sentiments 
from  his  by  showing  Mr.  Meadows  a  marked  respect.  She 
heard  of  his  arrival,  and  instantly  sent  her  father  to  welcome 

486 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

him  home.  Old  Merton  embraced  the  commission,  for  he 
happened  to  need  Meadows's  advice  and  assistance.  The 
speculations  into  which  he  had  oeen  led  by  Mr.  Clinton,  after 
some  fluctuations,  wore  a  gloomy  look,  "which  could  only  be 
temporary,"  said  that  gentleman.  Still  a  great  loss  would 
be  incurred  by  selling  out  of  them  at  a  period  of  depression, 
and  Mr.  Clinton  advised  him  to  borrow  a  thousand  pounds 
and  hold  on  till  things  brightened. 

Mr.  Meadows  smiled  grimly  as  the  fly  came  and  buzzed  all 
this  in  his  web.  "Dear !  dear !  what  a  pity  my  money  is 
locked  up!  Go  to  Lawyer  Crawley.  Use  my  name.  He 
won't  refuse  my  friend,  for  I  could  do  him  an  ill  turn  if  I 
chose." 

"I  will.  You  are  a  true  friend.  You  will  look  in  and  see 
us,  of  course,  market-day?" — "Why  not?" 

Meadows  did  not  resume  his  visits  at  Grassmere  without 
some  twinges  of  conscience  and  a  prudent  resolve  not  to  an- 
chor his  happiness  upon  Susan  Merton.  "That  man  might 
come  here  any  day  with  his  thousand  pounds  and  take  her 
from  me,"  said  he.  "He  seems  by  his  letters  to  be  doing 
well,  and  they  say  any  fool  can  make  money  in  the  colonies. 
Well,  if  he  comes  home  respectable  and  well-to-do,  I'll  go 
out.  If  I  am  not  to  have  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved  or 
cared  for,  let  thousands  and  thousands  of  miles  of  sea  lie  be- 
tween me  and  that  pair."  But  still  he  wheeled  about  the 
flame. — Ere  long  matters  took  a  very  dififerent  turn.  The 
tone  of  George's  letters  began  to  change.  His  repeated  losses 
of  bullocks  and  sheep  were  all  recorded  in  his  letters  to  Susan, 
and  these  letters  were  all  read  with  eager  anxiety  by  Mea- 
dows a  day  before  they  reached  Grassmere. 

The  respectable  man  did  not  commit  this  action  without 
some  iron  passing  through  his  own  soul.  Nemo  rcpente  tiir- 
pissimus.  The  first  letter  he  opened,  it  was  like  picking  a 
lock.  He  writhed  and  blushed,  and  his  uncertain  fingers 
fumbled  with  another's  property  as  if  it  had  been  red-hot. 
The  next  cost  him  some  shame  too,  but  the  next  less,  and  soon 
these  little  spasms  of  conscience  began  to  be  lost  in  the  plea- 
sure the  letters  gave  him.  "It  is  clear  he  will  never  make  a 
thousand  pounds  out  there,  and  if  he  doesn't,  the  old  farmer 
won't  give  him  Susan.     Wont?     He  shan't!     He  shall  be 

487 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

too  deep  in  my  debt  to  venture  on  it,  even  if  he  was  minded." 
Meadows  exulted  over  the  letters ;  and  as  he  exulted  they 
stabbed  him,  for  by  the  side  of  the  records  of  his  ill-fortune 
the  exile  never  failed  to  pour  out  his  love  and  confidence  in 
his  Susan,  and  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  some  dear  let- 
ter from  her,  which  Meadows  could  see  by  George's  must 
have  assured  him  of  undiminished  or  even  increased  affection. 

Thus  did  sin  lead  to  sin.  By  breaking  a  seal  which  was 
not  his,  and  reading  letters  which  were  not  his,  Meadows 
filled  himself  with  the  warmest  hopes  of  possessing  Susan 
one  day,  and  got  to  hate  George  for  the  stabs  the  young  man 
innocently  gave  him.  At  last  he  actually  looked  on  George 
as  a  sort  of  dog  in  the  manger,  who  could  not  make  Susan 
happy,  yet  would  come  between  her  heart  and  one  who  could. 
All  weapons  seemed  lawful  against  such  a  mere  pest  as  this — 
a  dog  in  the  manger. 

Meadows  started  with  nothing  better  nor  worse  than  a 
commonplace  conscience.  A  vicious  habit  is  an  iron  that  soon 
sears  that  sort  of  article.  When  he  had  opened  and  read 
about  four  letters,  his  moral  nature  turned  stone-blind  of  one 
eye;  and  now  he  was  happier  (on  the  surface)  than  he  had 
been  ever  since  he  fell  in  love  with  Susan. 

Sure  now  that  one  day  or  another  she  must  be  his,  he 
waited  patiently,  enjoyed  her  society  twice  a  week,  got  every- 
body into  his  power,  and  bided  his  time.  And  one  frightful 
thing  in  all  this  was  that  his  love  for  Susan  was  not  only  a 
strong,  but  in  itself  a  good  love.  I  mean  it  was  a  love  founded 
on  esteem ;  it  was  a  passionate  love,  and  yet  a  profound  and 
tender  affection.  It  was  the  love  which,  under  different  cir- 
cumstances, has  often  weaned  men,  ay,  and  women  too,  from 
a  frivolous,  selfish,  and  sometimes  from  a  vicious  life.  This 
love  Meadows  thought  and  hoped  would  hallow  the  unlaw- 
ful means  by  which  he  must  crown  it.  In  fact,  he  was  mix- 
ing vice  and  virtue.  The  snow  was  to  whiten  the  pitch,  not 
the  pitch  blacken  the  snow.  Thousands  had  tried  this  before 
him  and  will  try  it  after  him.  Oh,  that  I  could  persuade  them 
to  mix  fire  and  gunpowder  instead !  Men  would  bless  me  for 
this  when  all  else  I  have  written  has  been  long,  long  forgot- 
ten. 

He  felt  good  all  over  when  he  sat  with  Susan  and  thought 

488 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   AIEND 

how  his  means  would  enable  that  angel  to  satisfy  her  chari- 
table nature,  and  win  the  prayers  of  the  poor  as  well  as  the 
admiration  of  the  wealthy.  "If  ever  a  woman  was  cher- 
ished she  shall  be !  If  ever  a  woman  was  happy,  she  shall 
be!"  And  as  for  him,  if  he  had  done  wrong  to  win  her,  he 
would  more  than  compensate  it  afterwards.  In  short,  he  had 
been  for  more  than  twenty  years  selling,  buying,  swapping, 
driving  every  conceivable  earthly  bargain — so  now  he  was 
proposing  one  to  Heaven. 

At  last  came  a  letter  in  which  George  told  Susan  of  the 
fatal  murrain  among  his  sheep,  of  his  fever  that  had  fol- 
lowed immediately,  of  the  further  losses  while  he  lay  ill,  and 
concluded  by  saying  that  he  had  no  right  to  tie  her  to  his  mis- 
fortunes, and  that  he  felt  it  would  be  more  manly  to  set  her 
free. 

When  he  read  this,  'Meadows's  exultation  broke  all  bounds. 
"Ah,  ha!"  cried  he,  ''is  it  come  to  that  at  last?  Well,  he  is  a 
fine  fellow  after  all,  and  looks  at  it  the  sensible  way,  and  if  I 
can  do  him  a  good  turn  in  business,  I  always  will." 

The  next  day  he  called  at  Grassmere.  Susan  met  him  all 
smiles,  and  was  more  cheerful  than  usual.  The  watchful 
man  was  delighted.  "Come,  she  does  not  take  it  to  heart." 
He  did  not  guess  that  Susan  had  cried  for  hours  and  hours 
over  the  letter,  and  then  had  sat  quietly  down  and  written  a 
letter,  and  begged  George  to  come  home  and  not  add  separa- 
tion to  their  other  misfortunes ;  and  that  it  was  this  decision 
and  having  acted  upon  it  that  had  made  her  cheerful.  Mead- 
ows argued  in  his  own  favour,  and  now  made  sure  to  win. 

The  next  week  he  called  three  times  at  Grassmere  instead 
of  twice,  and  asked  himself  how  much  longer  he  must  wait 
before  he  should  speak  out.  Prudence  said,  "A  little  more 
patience ;"  and  so  he  still  hid  in  his  bosom  the  flame  that 
burned  him  the  deeper  for  this  unnatural  smothering.  But 
he  drank  deep  silent  draughts  of  love,  and  revelled  in  the 
bright  future  of  his  passion. 

It  was  no  longer  hope,  it  was  certainty.  Susan  liked  him ; 
her  eye  brightened  at  his  coming ;  her  father  was  in  his  power. 
There  was  nothing  between  them  but  the  distant  shadow  of  a 
rival ;  sooner  or  later  she  must  be  his.  So  passed  three  calm 
delicious  weeks  away. 

489 


1 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

MEADOWS  sat  one  day  in  his  study  receiving  Crawley's 
report. 

"Old  Mr.  Merton  came  yesterday.  I  made  difficulties,  as 
instructed.     Is  to  come  to-morrow." 

"He  shall  have  the  eight  hundred." 

"That  makes  two  thousand  four  hundred ;  why,  his  whole 
stock  won't  cover  it." — "No !" 

"Don't  understand  it ;  it  is  too  deep  for  me.  What  is  the 
old  gentleman  doing?" 

"Hunting  Will-o'-the-wisp.  Throwing  it  away  in  specu- 
lations that  are  coloured  bright  for  him  by  a  man  that  wants 
to  ruin  him." 

"Aha!"  cackled  Crawley. — "And  do  him  no  harm." 

"Augh !  how  far  is  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  sir,  if  you 
please?     I'm  sure  you  know,  Mr.  Levi  and  you." 

"Crawley,"  said  Meadows,  suddenly  turning  the  conversa- 
tion, "the  world  calls  me  close-fisted;  have  you  found  me  so?" 

"Liberal  as  running  water,  sir.  I  sometimes  say  how  long 
will  this  last  before  such  a  great  man  breaks  Peter  Crawley 
and  flings  him  away  and  takes  another?"  and  Crawley  sighed. 

"Then  your  game  is  to  make  yourself  necessary  to  me." 

"I  wish  I  could,"  said  Peter  with  mock  candour.  "Sir,"  he 
crept  on,  "if  the  most  ardent  zeal,  if  punctuality,  secrecy,  and 
unscrupulous  fidelity " 

"Hold  your  gammon!  Are  we  writing  a  book  together? 
Answer  me  this  in  English.  How  far  dare  you  go  along 
with  me?" 

"As  far  as  your  purse  extends, — only " 

"Only  what?  Only  your  thermometer  is  going  down  al- 
ready, I  suppose." 

"No,  sir,  but  what  I  mean  is  I  shouldn't  like  to  do  any- 
thing too  bad." 

"What  d'ye  mean  by  too  bad?" — "Punishable  by  law." 

"It  is  not  your  conscience  you  fear,  then  ?"  asked  the  other 
gloomily. — "Oh,  dear,  no,  sir.  only  the  law." 

"I  envy  you.  There  is  but  one  crime  punishable  by  law, 
and  that  I  shall  never  counsel  you  to." 

490 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Only  one — too  deep,  sir,  too  deep.     Which  is  that  ?" 

"The  crime  of  getting  found  out." 

"What  a  great  man  !  How  far  would  I  go  with  you  ?  To 
the  end  of  the  earth.     I  have  but  one  regret,  sir." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"That  I  am  not  thought  worthy  of  your  confidence — that, 
after  so  many  years,  I  am  still  only  a  too — I  mean  an  honoured 
instrument,  and  not  a  humble  friend." 

"Crawley,"  said  Meadows  solemnly,  "let  well  alone.  Don't 
ask  my  confidence,  for  I  am  often  tempted  to  give  it  you,  and 
that  would  be  all  one  as  if  I  put  the  blade  of  a  razor  in  your 
naked  hand." 

"I  don't  care,  sir !  You  are  up  to  some  game  as  deep  as  a 
coal-pit,  and  I  go  on  working  and  working  all  in  the  dark. 
I'd  give  anything  to  be  in  your  confidence." 

"Anything  is  nothing;  put  it  in  figures,"  sneered  Meadows 
incredulously. 

"I'll  give  20  per  cent,  off  all  you  give  me  if  you  will  let  me 
see  the  bottom." 

"The  bottom  ?" — "The  reason,  sir, — the  motive — the  why — 
the  wherefore — the  what  it  is  all  to  end  in.     The  bottom!" 

"Why  not  say  you  would  like  to  read  John  Meadows's 
heart?" 

"Don't  be  angry,  sir ;  it  is  presumption,  but  I  can't  help  it. 
Deduct  20  per  cent,  for  so  great  an  honour."  » 

"Why,  the  fool  is  in  earnest." 

"He  is ;  we  have  all  got  our  little  vanity,  and  like  to  be 
thought  worthy  of  confidence." 

"Humph!" 

"And  then  I  can't  sleep  for  puzzling.  Why  should  you 
stop  every  letter  that  comes  here  from  Australia?  Oh,  bless 
me,  how  neglectful  I  am;  here  is  a  letter  from  there,  just 
come.     To  think  of  me  bringing  it  and  then  forgetting." 

"Give  it  me  directly." 

"There  it  is.  And  then,  why  on  earth  are  we  ruining  old 
Mr.  Merton  without  benefiting  you  ?  and  you  seem  so  friendly 
with  him ;  and  indeed  you  say  he  is  not  to  be  harmed — only 
ruined ;  it  makes  my  head  ache.  Why,  what  is  the  matter, 
Mr.  Meadows,  sir?  What  is  wrong?  No  ill  news,  I  hope. 
I  wish  I'd  never  brought  the  letter." 

491 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"That  will  do,  Crawley,"  said  Meadows  faintly ;  "you  may 
go."     Crawley  rose  with  a  puzzled  air. 

"Come  here  to-morrow  evening  at  nine  o'clock,  and  you 
shall  have  your  wish.  All  the  worse  for  you,"  added  he 
moodily;  "all  the  worse  for  me.     Now  go  without  one  word." 

Crawley  retired  dumfounded.  He  saw  the  iron  man  had 
received  some  strange,  unexpected,  and  terrible  blow ;  but  for 
a  moment  awe  suppressed  curiosity,  and  he  went  ofif  on  tip- 
toe, saying  almost  in  a  whisper,  "To-morrow  night  at  nine, 
sir." 

Meadows  spread  George's  letter  on  the  table,  and  leaned 
on  his  two  hands  over  it. 

The  letter  was  written  some  weeks  after  the  last  despond- 
ing one.  It  was  full  of  modest  but  warm  and  buoyant  exulta- 
tion. Heaven  had  been  very  good  to  Susan  and  him.  Rob- 
inson had  discovered  gold — gold  in  such  abundance  and  qual- 
ity as  beat  even  California.  The  thousand  pounds  so  late 
despaired  of  was  now  a  certainty.  Six  months'  work  with 
average  good  fortune  would  do  it.  Robinson  said  five  thou- 
sand apiece  was  the  least  they  ought  to  bring  home ;  but  how 
could  he  (George)  wait  so  long  as  that  would  take?  "And, 
Susan,  dear,  if  anything  could  make  this  wonderful  luck 
sweeter,  it  is  to  think  that  I  owe  it  to  you  and  to  your  good- 
ness. It  was  you  that  gave  Tom  the  letter,  and  bade  me  be 
kind  to  him,  and  keep  him  by  me  for  his  good ;  he  has  repaid 
me  by  making  us  two  man  and  wife,  please  God.  See  what  a 
web  life  is !  Tom  and  I  often  talk  of  this.  But  Tom  says  it 
is  Parson  Eden  I  have  to  thank  for  it,  and  the  lessons  he 
learned  in  the  prison ;  but  I  tell  him  if  he  goes  so  far  back  as 
that,  he  should  go  farther,  and  thank  Farmer  Meadows,  for 
he  'twas  that  sent  Tom  tothe  prison,  where  he  was  converted, 
and  became  as  honest  a  fellow  as  any  in  the  world,  and  a 
friend  to  your  George  as  true  as  steel." 

The  letter  concluded  as  it  began,  with  thanks  to  Heaven, 
and  bidding  Susan  expect  his  happy  return  in  six  months 
after  this  letter.  In  short,  the  letter  was  one  "Hurrah !" 
tempered  with  simple  piety  and  love. 

Meadows  turned  cold  as  death  in  reading  it.  At  the  part 
where  Farmer  Meadows  was  referred  to  as  the  first  link  in  the 
golden  chain,  he  dashed  it  to  the  ground  and  raised  his  foot 

492 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

to  trample  on  it,  but  forbore,  lest  he  should  dirty  a  thing  that 
must  g-o  to  Susan. 

Then  he  walked  the  room  in  great  agitation. 

"Too  late,  George  Fielding,"  he  cried  aloud,  "too  late!  I 
can't  shift  my  heart  like  a  weathercock  to  suit  the  changes  in 
your  luck.  You  have  been  feeding  me  with  hopes  till  I  can't 
live  without  them.  I  never  longed  for  a  thing  yet  but  what  I 
got  it,  and  I'll  have  this,  though  I  trample  a  hundred  George 
Fieldings  dead  on  my  way  to  it.     Now  let  me  think." 

He  pondered  deeply,  his  great  brows  knitted  and  lowered. 
For  full  half  an  hour  invention  and  resource  poured  scheme 
after  scheme  through  that  teeming  brain,  and  prudence  and 
knowledge  of  the  world  sat  in  severe  and  cool  judgment  on 
each  in  turn,  and  dismissed  the  visionary  ones.  At  last  the 
deep  brow  began  to  relax  and  the  eye  to  kindle ;  and  when  he 
rose  to  ring  the  bell  his  face  was  a  sign-post  with  "Eureka" 
written  on  it  in  Nature's  vivid  handwriting.  In  that  hour  he 
had  hatched  a  plot  worthy  of  Machiavel — a  plot  complex  yet 
clear.     A  servant-girl  answered  the  bell. 

"Tell  David  to  saddle  Rachel  directly." 

And  in  five  minutes  Mr.  Meadows,  with  a  shirt,  a  razor,  a 
comb,  and  a  map  of  Australia  was  galloping  by  cross-lanes  to 
the  nearest  railway  station.  There  he  telegraphed  Mr.  Clin- 
ton to  meet  him  at  Peel's  Coffee-house  at  two  o'clock. 

The  message  flashed  up  to  town  like  lightning.  The  man 
followed  it  slowly  like  the  wind. 


CHAPTER  LV. 


MEADOWS  found  Mr.  Clinton  at  Peel's. 
"Mr.   Clinton,   I   want  a  man  of  intelligence  to  be 
at  my  service  for  twenty-four  hours.     I  give  you  the  first 
offer." 

Mr.  Clinton  replied  that  really  he  had  so  many  irons  in  the 

fire  that  twenty-four  hours 

Meadows  put  a  fifty-pound  note  on  the  table. 
"Will  all  your  irons  iron  you  out  fifty  pounds  as  flat  as 
that?" 

"Why,  hem !" 

493 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"No,  nor  five.  Come,  sir,  sharp  is  the  word.  Can  you  be 
my  servant  for  twenty-four  hours  for  fifty  pounds,  yes  or 
no?" 

"Why,  this  is  dramatic — yes !" 

"It  is  half-past  two.  Between  this  and  four  o'clock  I  must 
buy  a  few  hundred  acres  in  Australia  a  fair  bargain." 

"Humph !  Well,  that  can  be  done.  I  know  an  old  fel- 
low that  has  land  in  everv  part  of  the  globe." — "Take  me  to 
him." 

In  ten  minutes  they  were  in  one  of  those  dingy  narrow 
alleys  in  the  city  of  London  that  look  the  abode  of  decent 
poverty,  and  they  could  afford  to  buy  Grosvenor  Square  for 
their  stables ;  and  Mr.  Clinton  introduced  his  friend  to  a  blear- 
eyed  merchant  in  a  large  room  papered  with  maps ;  the  win- 
dows were  encrusted ;  mustard  and  cress  might  have  been 
grown  from  them.  Beauty  in  clean  linen  collar  and  wrist- 
bands would  have  shone  here  with  intolerable  lustre,  but  the 
blear-eyed  merchant  did  not  come  out  bright  by  contrast ;  he 
had  taken  the  local  colour.  You  could  see  him,  and  that  was 
all.  He  was  like  a  partridge  in  a  furrow.  A  snuff-coloured 
man ;  coat  rusty  all  but  the  collar,  and  that  greasy ;  poor  as  its 
colour  was,  his  linen  had  thought  it  worth  emulating ;  blackish 
nails,  cotton  wipe,  little  bald  place  on  head,  but  didn't  shine 
for  the  same  reason  the  windows  didn't.  Mr.  Clinton  ap- 
proached this  "dhirrrty  money,"  this  rusty  coin,  in  the  spirit 
of  flunkeyism. 

"Sir,"  said  he  in  a  low  reverential  tone,  "this  party  is  dis- 
posed to  purchase  a  few  hundred  acres  in  the  colonies." 

Mr.  Rich  looked  up  from  his  desk  and  pointed  with  a  sweep 
of  his  pen  to  the  walls. 

"There  are  the  maps :  the  red  crosses  are  my  land.  They 
are  numbered.  Refer  to  the  margin  of  map,  and  you  will 
find  the  acres  and  the  latitude  and  longitude  calculated  to  a 
fraction.  When  you  have  settled  in  what  part  of  the  world 
you  buy,  come  to  me  again ;  time  is  gold." 

And  the  blear-eyed  merchant  wrote  and  sealed  and  filed  and 
took  no  notice  of  his  customers.  They  found  red  crosses  in 
several  of  the  United  States,  in  Canada,  in  Borneo,  in  nearly 
all  the  colonies,  and  as  luck  would  have  it  they  found  one 
small  cross  within  thirty  miles  of  Bathurst,  and  the  margin 

494 


i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

described  it  as  five  hundred  acres.  Mr.  Meadows  stepped 
towards  the  desk. 

"I  have  found  a  small  property  near  Bathurst." 

"Bathurst?  where  is  that?" 

"In  Australia." 

"Suit?" 

"If  the  price  suits.     What  is  the  price,  sir?" 

"The  books  must  tell  us  that." 

Mr.  Rich  stretched  out  his  arm  and  seized  a  ledger  and 
gave  it  to  Meadows. 

"I  have  but  one  price  for  land,  and  that  is  five  per  cent, 
profit  on  my  outlay.  Book  will  tell  you  what  it  stands  me  in ; 
you  can  add  five  per  cent,  to  that,  and  take  the  land  away 
or  leave  it." 

With  this  curt  explanation  Mr.  Rich  resumed  his  work. 

"It  seems  you  gave  five  shillings  an  acre,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Clinton.  "Five  times  five  hundred  shillings,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  pounds.  Interest  at  five  per  cent.,  six 
pounds  five." 

"When  did  I  buy  it?"  asked  Mr.  Rich. 

"Oh,  when  did  you  buy  it,  sir?" 

Mr.  Rich  snatched  the  book  a  little  pettishly  and  gave  it  to 
Meadows 

"You  make  the  calculation,"  said  he ;  "the  figures  are  all 
there.     Come  to  me  when  you  have  made  it." 

The  land  had  been  bought  twenty-seven  years  and  some 
months  ago.  Mr.  Meadows  made  the  calculation  in  a  turn  of 
the  hand  and  announced  it.  Rich  rang  a  hand-bell.  Another 
snufify  figure  with  a  stoop  and  a  bald  head  and  a  pen  came 
through  a  curtain. 

"Jones,  verify  that  calculation." 

"Penny  halfpenny  two  pence,  penny  halfpenny  two  pence. 
Mum,  mum !  halfpenny  wrong,  sir." 

"There  is  a  halfpenny  wrong !"  cried  Mr.  Rich  to  Meadows 
with  a  most  injured  air. 

"There  is,  sir,"  said  Meadows,  "but  it  is  on  the  right  side 
for  you.  I  thought  I  would  make  it  even  monev  against  my- 
self." 

"There  are  only  two  ways,  wrong  and  right,"  was  the  re- 
ply.    "Jones,  make  it  right.     There,  that  is  the  price  for  the 

495 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

next  half-hour.;  after  business  hours  to-day  add  a  day's  in- 
terest; and,  Jones,  if  he  does  not  buy,  write  your  calculation 
into  the  book  with  date,  save  time,  next  customer  comes  for 
it." 

"You  need  not  trouble,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  Meadows.  "I  take 
the  land.  Here  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds — that  is 
rather  more  than  half  the  purchase  money." 

"Jones,  count." 

"When  can  I  have  the  deeds?" — "Ten  to-morrow." 

"Receipt  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  said  Meadows, 
falling  into  the  other's  key. 

"Jones,  write  receipt — two  five  nought." 

"Write  me  an  agreement  to  sell,"  proposed  Meadows. 

"No,  you  write  it ;  I'll  sign  it.  Jones,  enter  transaction  in 
the  books.  Have  you  anything  to  do,  young  gentleman  ?"  ad- 
dressing Clinton. — "No,  sir." 

"Then  draw  this  pen  through  the  two  crosses  on  the  map 
and  margin.     Good  morning,  gentlemen." 

And  the  money-making  machine  rose  and  dismissed  them, 
as  he  had  received  them,  with  a  short  sharp  business  conge. 

Ye  fair,  who  turn  a  shop  head  over  heels,  maul  sixty  yards 
of  ribbon  and  buy  six,  which  being  sent  home,  insatiable  be- 
comes your  desire  to  change  it  for  other  six,  which  you  had 
fairly,  closely,  and  with  all  the  powers  of  your  mind  compared 
with  it  during  the  seventy  minutes  the  purchase  occupied ;  let 
me  respectfully  inform  you  that  the  above  business  took  just 
eight  minutes,  and  that  "when  it  was  done  'twas  done." 
(Shakespeare.) 

"You  have  given  too  much,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

"Come  to  my  inn,"  was  all  the  reply.  "This  is  the  easy 
part ;  the  game  is  behind." 

After  dinner — "Now,"  said  Meadows,  "business :  do  you 
know  any  respectable  firm  disposed  towards  speculation  in 
mines?"— "Plenty." 

"Any  that  are  looking  towards  gold?" 

"Why,  no.  Gold  is  a  metal  that  ranks  very  low  in  specula- 
tion. Stop,  yes ;  I  know  one  tip-top  house  that  has  gone  a 
little  way  in  it,  but  they  have  burned  their  fingers,  so  they 
will  go  no  farther." 

"You  are  wrong;  they  will  be  eager  to  go  on — first  to  re- 

496 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND' 

cover  the  loss  on  that  article  of  account,  and  next  to  show 
their  enemies,  and  in  particular  such  of  them  as  are  their 
friends,  that  they  didn't  blunder.  You  will  go  to  them  to- 
morrow and  ask  if  they  can  allow  you  a  commission  for  bring- 
ing them  an  AustraUan  settler  on  whose  land  gold  has  been 
found." 

"Now,  my  good  sir,"  began  Mr.  Clinton  a  little  supercili- 
ously, "that  is  not  the  way  to  gain  the  ear  of  such  a  firm  as 
that.  The  better  way  will  be  for  you  to  show  me  your  whole 
design  and  leave  me  to  devise  the  best  means  for  carrying  it 
into  effect." 

Up  to  this  moment  Meadows  had  treated  Mr.  Clinton  with 
a  marked  deference,  as  from  yeoman  to  gentleman.  The  lat- 
ter, therefore,  was  not  a  little  surprised  when  the  other  turned 
sharp  on  him  thus: — "This  won't  do;  we  must  understand 
one  another.  You  think  you  are  the  man  of  talent  and  I  am 
the  clod-hopper.  Think  so  to-morrow  night ;  but  for  the  next 
twenty-four  hours  you  must  keep  that  notion  out  of  your 
head,  or  you  will  ditch  my  schemes  and  lose  your  fifty 
pounds.  Look  here,  sir.  You  began  life  with  ten  thousand 
pounds ;  you  have  been  all  your  life  trying  all  you  know  to 
double  it,  and  where  is  it?  The  pounds  are  pence  and  the 
pence  on  the  road  to  farthings.  I  started  with  a  whip  and  a 
smock-frock  and  this,"  touching  his  head,  "and  I  have  fifty 
thousand  pounds  in  Government  securities.  Which  is  the 
able  man  of  these  two — the  bankrupt  that  talks  like  an  angel 
and  loses  the  game,  or  the  wise  man  that  quietly  wins  it  and 
pockets  what  all  the  earth  are  grappling  with  him  for?  So 
much  for  that.  And  now  which  is  master — the  one  who  pays 
or  the  one  who  is  paid  ?  I  am  not  a  liberal  man,  sir ;  I  am  a 
man  that  looks  at  every  penny.  I  don't  give  fifty  pounds.  I 
sell  it.  That  fifty  pounds  is  the  price  of  your  vanity  for 
twenty-four  hours.  I  take  a  day's  loan  of  it.  You  are  paid 
fifty  pounds  per  diem  to  see  that  there  is  more  brains  in  my 
little  finger  than  in  all  your  carcass.  See  it  for  twenty-four 
hours  or  I  won't  fork  out,  or  don't  see  it  but  obey  me  as  if 
you  did  see  it.  You  shan't  utter  a  syllable  or  move  an  inch 
that  I  have  not  set  down  for  you.  Is  this  too  hard  ?  then  ac- 
cept ten  pounds  for  to-day's  work,  and  let  us  part  before  you 
bungle  your  master's  game,  as  you  have  done  your  own." 
''  497 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Mr.  Clinton  was  red  with  mortified  vanity,  but  forty 
pounds !     He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair, 

"This  is  amusing,"  said  he.  "Well,  sir,  I  will  act  as  if  you 
were  Solomon  and  I  nobody.  Of  course  under  these  cir- 
cumstances no  responsibility  rests  with  me." 

"You  are  wasting  my  time  with  your  silly  prattle,"  said 
Meadows  very  sternly.  "Man  alive !  you  never  made  fifty 
pounds  cash  since  you  were  calved.  It  comes  to  your  hand 
to-day,  and  even  then  you  must  chatter  and  jaw  instead  of 
saying  yes,  and  closing  your  fingers  on  it  like  a  vice." 

"Yes !"  shouted  Clinton  ;  "there." 

"Take  that  quire,"  said  Meadows  sharply.  "Now  I'll  dic- 
tate the  very  words  you  are  to  say;  learn  them  off  by  heart 
and  don't  add  a  syllable  or  subtract  one,  or — no  fifty  pounds." 

Meadows  being  a  general  by  nature  (not  Horse-Guards), 
gave  Clinton  instructions  down  to  the  minutest  matters  of  de- 
tail, and  he  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  proving  he  would 
succeed — and  failing — began  to  suspect  the  man  who  had  al- 
ways succeeded  might  perhaps  have  had  something  to  do 
with  his  success.  Next  morning,  well  primed  by  Meadows, 
Mr.  Clinton  presented  himself  to  Messrs.  Bradthwaite  and 
Stevens,  and  requested  a  private  audience.  He  inquired 
whether  they  were  disposed  to  allow  him  a  commission  if  he 
would  introduce  them  to  an  Australian  settler  on  whose  land 
gold  had  been  discovered.  The  two  members  of  the  firm 
looked  at  one  another.     After  a  pause  one  of  them  said — 

"Commission  really  must  depend  on  how  such  a  thing 
turned  out.  They  had  little  confidence  in  such  statements, 
but  would  see  the  settler  and  put  some  questions  to  him." 

Clinton  went  out  and  introduced  Meadows.  This  hap- 
pened just  as  Meadows  had  told  him  it  would.  Outside  the 
door  Mr.  Meadows  suddenly  put  on  a  rustic  carriage,  and  so 
came  in  and  imitated  natural  shyness  with  great  skill ;  he  had 
to  be  twice  asked  to  sit  down.  The  firm  cross-examined  him. 
He  told  them  gold  had  been  discovered  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  his  land,  thirty  miles  from  Bathurst;  that  his  friends  out 
there  had  said  go  home  to  England,  and  they  will  give  you  a 
heavy  price  for  your  land  now ;  that  he  did  hope  to  get  a 
heavy  price,  and  so  be  able  to  live  at  home — didn't  want  to  go 
out  there  again ;  that  the  land  was  worth  money,  for  there 

498 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

was  no  more  to  be  sold  in  that  part ;  Government  land  all 
round  and  they  wouldn't  sell,  for  he  had  tried  them  (his 
sharp  eye  had  seen  this  fact  marked  on  Mr,  Rich's  map). 

"Well,"  said  the  senior  partner,  "we  have  information  that 
gold  has  been  discovered  in  that  district ;  the  report  came 
here  two  days  ago  by  the  Anne  Amelia.  But  the  account  is 
not  distinct  as  yet.  We  do  not  hear  on  whose  land  it  is  found 
if  at  all.     I  presume  you  have  not  seen  gold  found." 

"Could  I  afford  to  leave  my  business  out  there  and  come 
home  on  a  speculation?" 

The  eyes  of  the  firm  began  to  glitter. 

"Have  you  got  any  gold  to  show  us?" 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,  sir ;  only  what  they  chucked  me  for 
giving  them  a  good  dinner.  But  they  are  shovelling  it  about 
like  grains  of  wheat,  I  assure  you."  The  firm  became  im- 
patient. 

"Show  us  what  they  gave  you  as  the  price  of  a  dinner?" 

Meadows  dug  into  a  deep  pocket,  and  chased  into  a  corner, 
and  caught  and  produced  a  little  nugget  of  quartz  and  gold 
worth  about  four  pounds,  also  another  of  somewhat  less 
value. 

"They  don't  look  handsome,  gents,"  said  he  "but  you  may 
see  the  stuff  glitter  here  and  there ;  and  here  is  some  of  the 
dust.  I  had  to  buy  this — gave  them  fifty  shillings  an  ounce 
for  it.  I  wish  I  had  bought  a  hundredweight,  for  they  tell 
me  it  is  worth  three  pound  ten  here." 

"May  we  inspect  these  specimens?" — "Why  not,  sir?  I'll 
trust  it  with  you :  I  wouldn't  with  everybody,  though." 

The  partners  retired  with  the  gold,  tested  it  with  muriatic 
acid,  weighed  it,  and  after  a  short  excited  interview  one  of 
them  brought  it  back,  and  asked  with  great  nonchalance  the 
price  of  the  land. 

Meadows  hung  his  head.     "Twenty  thousand  pounds." 

"Twenty  thousand  pounds !"  and  the  partner  laughed  in 
his  face. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  are  surprised,  sir.  I  wonder  at  my- 
self asking  so  much.  Why,  before  this  if  you  had  offered  me 
five  thousand,  I  would  have  jumped  into  your  arms,  as  the 
saying  is ;  but  they  all  say  I  ought  to  have  twenty  thousand, 
and  they  have  talked  to  me  till  they  make  me  greedy." 

499 


™ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


The  partner  retired  and  consulted,  and  the  firm  ended  by 
offering  ten  thousand. 

"I  am  right  down  ashamed  to  say  no,"  was  the  answer,  "but 
I  suppose  I  must  not  take  it."  , 

The  firm  undertook  to  prove  that  it  was  a  magnificent  offer. 
Meadows  offered  no  resistance,  he  thought  so  too ;  but  he 
must  not  take  it,  everybody  told  him  it  was  worth  more.  At 
last,  when  his  hand  was  on  the  door,  they  offered  him  twelve 
thousand  five  hundred. 

He  begged  to  consider  of  it.  No!  they  were  peremptory. 
If  he  was  off,  they  were  off.  He  looked  this  way  and  that 
way  with  a  frightened  air. 

"What  shall  I  do,  sir?"  said  he  helplessly  to  Clinton,  and 
nudged  him  secretly. 

"Take  it  and  think  yourself  very  lucky,"  said  that  gentle- 
man, exchanging  a  glance  with  the  firm. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  say  so,  I  will.  You  shall  have  it,  gen- 
tlemen, five  hundred  acres  in  two  lots — 400  and  100." 

Clinton,  acting  on  his  secret  instructions,  now  sought  a  pri- 
vate interview  with  the  firm. 

"I  am  to  have  a  commission,  gentlemen  ?" 

"Yes,  fifty  pounds ;  but  really  we  can  hardly  afford  it." 

"Well,  then,  as  you  give  me  an  interest  in  it,  I  say — pin 
him." 

"Why?" — "Don't  you  see  he  is  one  of  those  soft  fellows 
who  listen  to  everybody.  If  he  goes  away,  and  they  laugh  at 
him  for  not  getting  more  for  it,  I  really  could  hardly  answer 
for  his  ever  coming  back  here."  The  firm  came  in  cheer- 
fullv. 

"Well,  Mr.— Mr. " 

"Not  Mr.,  sir.     Crawley — plain  John  Crawley." 

"We  will  determine  this  affair  with  you.  We  will  have  a 
contract  of  sale  drawn  up  and  make  you  an  advance.  When 
can  you  give  us  the  title-deeds?" 

"In  a  couple  of  hours,  if  the  lawyer  is  at  home." 

"By  the  by,  you  will  not  object  to  draw  upon  us  at  three 
months  for  one  half  of  the  money." 

"No,  sir.  I  should  say  by  the  look  of  you  you  were  as 
good  as  the  bank." 

"The  other -half  by  cheque  in  two  hours," 

500 


f 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

The  parties  signed  the  contract  respectively. 

Then  Meadows  and  Clinton  went  off  to  the  Five  per  Cent- 
er, completed  with  him,  got  the  title-deeds,  brought  them, 
received  cheque  and  accepted  draft.  Clinton,  by  Meadows's 
advice,  went  in  and  dunned  for  his  commission  then  and  there 
and  got  it,  and  the  confederates  went  off  and  took  a  hasty 
dinner  together.     After  dinner  they  settled. 

"As  you  showed  me  how  to  get  this  commission  out  of 
them,  it  belongs  to  you,"  said  Clinton  sorrowfully. 

"It  does,  sir.  Give  it  to  me.  I  return  it  you,  sir — do  me 
the  favour  to  accept  it." 

"You  are  very  generous,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"And  here  is  the  other  fifty  you  have  earned." 

"Thank  you,  my  good  sir.  Are  you  satisfied  with  the 
day's  work?" — "Amply,  sir.  Your  skill  and  ingenuity 
brought  us  through  triumphant,"  said  Meadows,  resuming 
the  deferential  since  he  risked  nothing  by  it  now. 

"Well,  I  think  I  managed  it  pretty  well.  By  the  by,  that 
gold  you  showed  them,  was  it  really  gold?" — "Certainly." 

"Oh,  because  I  thought " 

"No,  sir,  you  did  not.  A  man  of  your  ability  knows  I 
would  not  risk  ten  thousand  pounds  for  want  of  a  purchase  I 
could  not  lose  ten  shillings  by.     Ore  is  not  a  fancy  article." 

"Oh !  ah !  yes,  very  true ;  no,  of  course  not.  One  question 
more.     Where  did  the  gold  come  from?" — "California." 

"But  I  mean  how  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"I  bought  it  out  of  a  shop-window  those  two  knowing  ones 
pass  twice  every  day  of  their  lives." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Yoii  pass  it  oftener  than  that,  sir.  Excuse  me,  sir ;  I  must 
catch  the  train.  But  one  word  before  I  go.  My  name  must 
never  be  mentioned  in  this  business." 

"Very  well ;  it  never  shall  transpire,  upon  my  honour." 

Meadows  felt  pretty  safe.  As  he  put  on  his  great-coat  he 
thought  to  himself,  "When  the  story  is  blown  and  laughed 
over,  this  man's  vanity  will  keep  my  name  out  of  it.  He 
won't  miss  a  chance  of  telling  the  world  how  clever  he  is. 
My  game  is  to  pass  for  honest,  not  for  clever,  no  thank  you^"       ^^ 

last  word.     "It  is  you  fc 

.    \: 


game  is  to  pass  lor  nonest,  not  tor  ciever,  no  thank  yom         ,^y. 
Good-bye,  sir,"  was  his  last  word.     "It  is  you  ior:Apbn-^<''^  ^^ 
winking  them."  .        \^ "  v-^^  "c,>*^  /^    •■" 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!    Good-bye,  farmer"  (in  a  patronising  tone). 

Soon  after  this  Meadows  was  in  a  corner  of  a  railway-car- 
riage, twelve  thousand  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  in  his 
pocket,  and  the  second  part  of  his  great  complex  scheme  boil- 
ing and  bubbling  in  his  massive  head.  There  he  sat  silent 
as  the  grave,  his  hat  drawn  over  his  powerful  brows  that 
were  knitted  all  the  journey  by  one  who  never  knitted  them 
in  vain. 

He  reached  home  at  eight,  and  sat  down  to  his  desk  and 
wrote  for  more  than  half  an  hour.  Then  he  sealed  up  the 
paper,  and  when  Crawley  came  he  found  him  walking  up  and 
down  the  room.  At  a  silent  gesture  Crawley  took  a  chair 
and  sat  quivering  with  curiosity.  Meadows  walked  in  deep 
thought. 

"You  demanded  my  confidence.  It  is  a  dangerous  secret, 
for  once  you  know  it,  you  must  serve  me  with  red-hot  zeal 
or  be  my  enemy,  and  be  crushed  out  of  life  like  a  blind-worm 
or  an  adder,  Peter  Crawley." 

"I  know  that,  dear  sir,"  assented  Peter  ruefully. 

"First,  how  far  have  you  guessed  ?" 

"I  guess  Mr.  Levi  is  somehow  against  us." 

"He  is,"  replied  Meadows  carelessly. 

"Then  that  is  a  bad  job.  He  will  beat  us.  He  is  as  cun- 
ning as  a  fox." 

Meadows  looked  up  contemptuously,  but  as  he  could  not 
afiford  to  let  such  a  sneak  as  Crawley  think  him  anything 
short  of  invincible,  he  said  coolly,  "He  is,  and  I  have  meas- 
ured cunning  with  a  fox." 

"You  have?     That  must  have  been  a  tight  match." 

"A  folc  used  to  take  my  chickens  one  hard  winter — an  old 
fox,  cautious  and  sly  as  the  Jew  you  rate  so  high.  The  men 
sat  up  with  guns  for  him — no ;  a  keeper  set  traps  in  a  triangle 
for  him — no.  He  had  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  the  ear  of  a  hare, 
and  his  own  nose.  He  would  have  the  chickens,  and  he 
would  not  get  himself  into  trouble.  The  women  complained 
to  me  of  the  fox.  I  turned  a  ferret  loose  into  the  rabbit- 
hutch,  and  in  half  a  minute  there  was  as  nice  a  young  rabbit 
dead  as  ever  you  saw." 

"Lookee  there  now,"  cried  Crawley. 

"I  choked  tfie  ferret  off,  but  never  touched  the  rabbit.     I 

502 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

took  the  rabbit  with  a  pair  of  tongs ;  the  others  had  handled 
their  baits,  and  pug  crept  round  'em  and  nosed  the  trick.  I 
poured  twenty  drops  of  croton-oil  into  the  little  hole  ferret 
had  made  in  bunny's  head,  and  I  dropped  him  in  the  grass 
near  pug's  track.  Next  morning  rabbit  had  been  drawn 
about  twenty  yards,  and  the  hole  in  his  head  was  three  times 
as  big.  Pug  went  the  nearest  way  to  blood — went  in  at  fer- 
ret's hole.     I  knew  he  would." 

"Yes,  sir !  yes !  yes !  yes !  and  there  lay  the  fox." 

"No  signs  of  him.  Then  I  said,  'Go  to  the  nearest  water 
— croton-oil  makes  'em  dry.'  They  went  along  the  brook, 
and  on  the  very  bank  there  lay  an  old  dog-fox  blown  up  like 
a  bladder,  as  big  as  a  wolf  and  as  dead  as  a  herring. 
Now  for  the  Jew.  Look  at  that;"  and  he  threw  him  a 
paper. 

"Why,  this  is  the  judgment  on  which  I  arrested  Will  Field- 
ing, and  here  is  the  acceptance." 

"Levi  bought  them  to  take  the  man  out  of  my  power.  He 
left  them  with  old  Cohen.  I  have  got  them  again,  you  see, 
and  got  young  Fielding  in  my  power,  spite  of  his  foxy 
friend." 

"Capital,  sir,  capital !"  cried  the  admiring  Crawley.  He 
then  looked  at  the  reconquered  documents.  "Ah !"  said  he 
spitefully,  "how  I  wish  I  could  alter  one  of  these  names — 
only  one !" 

"What  d'ye  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I'd  give  fifty  pound  (if  I  had  it)  if  it  was  but 
that  brute  George  Fielding  that  was  in  our  power  instead  of 
this  fool  William." 

Meadows  opened  his  eyes  :  "Why  ?" — "Because  he  put  an 
affront  upon  me,"  was  the  somewhat  sulky  reply. 

"What  was  that?"— "Oh,  no  matter,  sir!" 

"But  it  is  matter.     Tell  me.     I  am  that  man's  enemy." 

"Then  I  am  in  luck.     You  are  just  the  enemy  I  wish  him." 

"What  was  the  afifront?" — "He  called  me  a  pettifogger." 

"Oh,  is  that  all  ?" 

"No ;  he  discharged  me  from  visiting  his  premises." 

"That  was  not  very  polite." 

"And  threatened  to  horsewhip  me  next  time  I  came  there." 

"Oh,  is  that  where  the  shoe  pinches?" — "No,  it  is  not!" 

503 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

cried  Crawley  almost  in  a  shriek ;  "but  he  altered  his  mind, 
and  did  horsewhip  me  then  and  there,  curse  him !" 

Meadows  smiled  grimly.  He  saw  his  advantage.  "Craw- 
ley," said  he  quickly,  "he  shall  rue  the  day  he  lifted  his  hand 
over  you.     You  want  to  see  to  the  bottom  of  me !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Meadows,  that  is  too  far  for  the  naked  eye  to 
see,"  was  the  despondent  reply. 

"Not  when  it  suits  my  book.  I  am  going  to  keep  my 
promise  and  show  you  my  heart." — "Ah !" 

"Listen,  and  hear  the  secret  of  my  life.     Are  you  listen- 


ing 


?" 


"What  do  you  think,  sir?"  was  the  tremulous  answer. 

"I — love — Miss — Merton,"  and  for  once  his  eyes  sunk  be- 
fore Crawley's. 

"Sir !  you — love — a — woman  ?" 

"Not  as  libertines  love,  nor  as  boys  flirt  and  pass  on. 
Heaven  have  mercy  on  me,  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul  and  brain !  I  love  her  with  more  force  than  such  as  you 
can  hate!" 

"The  deuce  you  do !" 

"I  love  the  sweetheart — of  the  man — who  lashed  you — 
like  a  dog."  Crawley  winced  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "And 
your  fortune  is  made  if  you  help  me  to  win  her."  Crawley 
rubbed  his  hands.  "Old  Merton  has  promised  the  woman 
I  love  to  this  George  Fielding,  if  he  comes  back  with  a  thou- 
sand pounds." 

"Don't  you  be  frightened,  sir;  that  he  will  never  do." 

"Will  he  not  ?     Read  this  letter." 

"Ah  !  the  letter  that  put  you  out  so.  Let  me  see !  Mum ! 
mum  !     Found  gold  !     Pheugh  !  pheugh  !  pheeeugh  ! !" 

"Crawley,  most  men  reading  that  letter  would  have  given 
in  then  and  there,  and  not  fought  against  such  luck  as  this. 
I  only  said  to  myself,  'Then  it  will  cost  me  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  win  the  day.  Well,  between  yesterday  eleven 
forenoon  and  this  hour  I  made  the  ten  thousand  pounds." 
He  told  him  briefly  how. 

"Beautiful,  sir !  beautiful !  What,  did  you  make  the  ten 
thousand  out  of  your  own  rival's  letter  ?" 

"Yes,  I  taxed  the  enemy  for  the  expenses  of  the  war." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Meadows,  what  a  fool,  what  a  villain  I  was  to 

504 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

think  Mr.  Levi  was  as  great  a  man  as  you!  I  must  have 
been  under  a  hallucination." 

"Crawley,  the  day  that  John  and  Susan  Meadows  walk  out 
of  church  man  and  wife  I  put  a  thousand  pounds  into  your 
hand  and  set  you  up  in  any  business  you  like — in  any  honest 
business,  for  from  that  day  our  underhand  dealings  must  end. 
The  husband  of  that  angel  must  never  grind  the  poor  or 
wrong  a  living  creature.  If  Heaven  consents  to  my  being 
happy  in  this  way,  the  least  I  can  do  is  to  walk  straightfor- 
ward the  rest  of  my  days,  and  I  will,  s'help  me  God." 

"That  is  fair.  I  knew  you  were  a  great  man,  but  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  such  a  good  one." 

"Crawley,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sudden  gloomy  misgiv- 
ing, "I  am  trying  to  cheat  the  devil.  I  fear  no  man  can  do 
that,"  and  he  hung  his  head. 

"No  ordinary  man,  sir,"  replied  the  parasite,  "but  your 
skill  has  no  bounds.  Your  plan,  sir,  at  once,  that  I  may  co- 
operate and  not  thwart  your  great  skill  through  igno- 
rance." 

"My  plan  has  two  hands :  one  must  work  here — the  other  a 
great  many  miles  from  here.  If  I  could  but  cut  myself  in 
two,  all  would  be  well — but  I  can't.  I  must  be  one  hand, 
yo&  the  other.  /  work  thus : — Post-office  here  is  under  my 
thumb.  I  stop  all  letters  from  him  to  her.  Presently  comes 
a  letter  from  Australia  telling,  among  pork,  grains,  &c.,  how 
George  Fielding  has  made  his  fortune  and  married  a  girl  out 
there/' 

"But  who  is  to  write  the  letter  ?" — "Can't  you  guess  ?" 

"Haven't  an  idea.     She  won't  believe  it." 

"Not  at  first,  perhaps,  but  when  she  gets  no  more  letters 
from  him  she  will." 

"So  she  will.     So  then  you  will  run  him  down  to  her." 

"Not  such  a  fool ;  she  would  hate  me.  I  shall  never  men- 
tion his  name.  I  make  one  of  my  tools  hang  gaol  over  old 
Merton.  Susan  thinks  George  married.  I  strike  upon  her 
pique  and  her  father's  distress.  I  ask  him  for  his  daughter. 
Offer  to  pay  my  father-in-law's  debts  and  start  him  afresh." 

"Beautiful!  beautiful!" 

"Susan  likes  me  already.  I  tell  her  all  I  suffered  silent, 
while  she  was  on  with  George.     I  press  her  to  be  mine.    She 

505 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


I 


M] 


will  say  no  perhaps  three  or  four  times,  but  the  fifth  she  will 
say  yes !" 

"She  will !     You  are  a  great  man."  ^^ 

"And  she  will  be  happy." — "Can't  see  it." 

"A  man  that  marries  a  virtuous  woman  and  loves  her  is  no 
man  at  all  if  he  can't  make  her  love  him ;  they  can't  resist  our 
stronger  wills  except  by  flight  or  by  leaning  upon  another 
man.     I'll  be  back  directly." 

Mr.  Meadows  returned  with  a  bottle  of  wine  and  two 
glasses.  Crawley  was  surprised.  This  was  a  beverage  he 
had  never  seen  his  friend  drink  or  offer  him.  Another  thing 
puzzled  him.  When  Mr.  Meadows  came  back  with  the  wine 
he  had  not  so  much  colour  as  usual  in  his  face — not  near  so 
much. 

"Crawley,"  said  Meadows  in  a  low  voice,  "suppose  while  I 
am  working,  this  George  Fielding  were  to  come  home  with 
money  in  both  pockets?" 

"He  would  kick  it  all  down  in  a  moment." 

"I  am  glad  you  see  that.  Then  you  see  one  hand  is  not 
enough ;  another  must  be  working  far  away." 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  see " 

"You  will  see.  Drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  me,  my  good 
friend.    Your  health." — "Same  to  you,  sir." 

"Is  it  to  your  mind  ?" — "Elixir !  this  is  the  stuff  that  sharp- 
ens a  chap's  wit  and  puts  courage  in  his  heart." 

"I  brought  it  for  that.  You  and  I  have  no  chicken's  play 
on  hand.     Another  glass." — "Success  to  your  scheme,  sir." 

"Crawley,  George  Fielding  must  not  come  back  this  year 
with  one  thousand  pounds." 

"No,  he  must  not — thank  you,  sir,  your  health.  Mustn't! 
he  shan't;  but  how  on  earth  can  you  prevent  him?" 

"That  paper  will  prevent  him :  it  is  a  paper  of  instructions. 
My  very  brains  lie  in  that  paper — put  it  in  your  pocket." 

"In  my  pocket,  sir?  Highly  honoured — shall  be  executed 
to  the  letter.     What  wine !" 

"And  this  is  a  cheque-book." — "No!  is  it  though?" 

"You  will  draw  on  me  for  one  hundred  pounds  per 
month." 

"No!  shall  I  though?     Sir,  you  are  a  king!" 

"Of  which  you  will  account  for  fifty  pounds  only/* 

506 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Liberal,  sir;  as  I  said  before,  liberal  as  running  water." 

"You  are  going  a  journey." 

"Am  I?  Well,  don't  you  turn  pale  for  that — I'll  come 
back  to  you, — nothing  but  death  shall  part  us.  Have  a  drop 
of  this,  sir;  it  will  put  blood  into  your  cheek  and  fire  into 
your  heart.     That  is  right.     Where  am  I  going,  sir?" 

"What,  don't  you  know  ?" 

"No,  nor  I  don't  care,  so  long  as  it  is  in  your  service  I  go." 

"Still  it  is  a  long  journey." 

"Oh,  is  it  ?     Your  health  then,  and  my  happy  return." 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  the  sea  or  the  wind?" 

"I  am  afraid  of  nothing  but  your  wrath,  and — and — the 
law.  The  sea  be  hanged  and  the  wind  be  blowed !  When  I 
see  your  talent  and  energy,  and  hold  your  cheque-book  in  my 
hand  and  your  instructions  in  my  pocket,  I  feel  to  play  at 
football  with  the  world.  When  shall  I  start  ?" — "To-morrow 
morning." 

"To-night  if  you  like.     Where  am  I  to  go  to?" 

"To  Australia  !" 

That  single  word  suspended  the  glass  going  to  Crawley's 
lips,  and  the  chuckle  coming  from  them.  A  dead  silence  on 
both  sides  followed  it.  And  now  two  colourless  faces  looked 
into  one  another's  eyes  across  the  table. 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

THREE  days  the  gold-finders  worked  alone  upon  the 
pre-Adamite  river's  bed.  At  evening  on  the  third  day 
they  looked  up,  and  saw  a  figure  perched  watching  them  with 
a  pipe  in  its  mouth.  It  disappeared  in  silence.  Next  day 
there  were  men  on  their  knees  beside  them  digging,  scraping, 
washing,  and  worshipping  gold.  Soon  they  were  the  centre 
of  a  group, — soon  after  of  a  humming  mob.  As  if  the  birds 
had  really  carried  the  secret  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  men 
swarmed  and  buzzed  and  settled  like  locusts  on  the  gold- 
bearing  tract.  They  came  in  panting,  gleaming,  dusty,  and 
travel-stained,  and  flung  off  their  fatigue  at  sight,  and  run- 
ning up,  dived  into  the  gullies,  and  plied  spade  and  pickaxe 
with  clenched  teeth  and  throbbing  hearts.     They  seamed  the 

507 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

face  of  Nature  for  miles ;  turned  the  streams  to  get  at  their 
beds ;  pounded  and  crushed  the  sohd  rock  to  squeeze  out  the 
subtle  stain  of  gold  it  held  in  its  veins ; — hacked  through  the 
crops  as  through  any  other  idle  impediment ;  pecked  and 
hewed,  and  fought  and  wrestled  with  Nature  for  the  treasure 
that  lay  so  near  yet  in  so  tight  a  grip. 

We  take  off  our  clothes  to  sleep  and  put  them  on  to  play  at 
work,  but  these  put  on  their  clothes  to  sleep  in,  and  tore  them 
off  at  peep  of  day,  and  labour  was  red-hot  till  night  came 
and  cooled  it ;  and  in  this  fight  lives  fell  as  quickly  as  in  act- 
ual war,  and  by  the  same  enemy — disease.  Small  wonder, 
when  hundreds  and  hundreds  wrought  the  live-long  day  one- 
half  in  icy  water,  the  other  half  dripping  with  sweat. 

Men  rotted  like  sheep,  and  died  at  the  feet  of  that  gold 
whom  they  stormed  here  in  his  fortress ;  and  some,  alas !  met 
a  worse  fate;  for  that  befell  which  the  world  has  seen  in 
every  age  and  land  where  gold  has  come  to  light  upon  a  soil : 
men  wrestling  fiercely  with  Nature  jostled  each  other ;  cupid- 
ity inflamed  hate  to  madness,  and  human  blood  flowed  like 
water  over  that  yellow  dirt.  And  now  from  this  one  burn- 
ing spot  gold-fever  struck  inwards  to  the  heart  of  the  land, 
burned  its  veins,  and  maddened  its  brain ;  the  workman  sold 
his  tools,  bought  a  spade  and  a  pickaxe,  and  fled  to  the  gold ; 
the  lawyer  flung  down  his  parchment  and  off  to  the  gold ; 
the  penny-a-liner  his  brass  pen  and  off  to  a  greater  wonder 
than  he  had  ever  fabricated ;  the  schoolmaster,  to  whom  little 
boys  were  puzzling  out — 

"Quid  non  mortalia  pectora  cogis 
Auri  sacra  fames" — 

made  the  meaning  perfectly  clear — he  dropped  ferule  and 
book  and  ran  with  the  national  hunt  for  gold.  Shops  were 
closed  for  want  of  buyers  and  sellers ;  the  grass  crept  up  be- 
tween the  paving-stones  in  great  thoroughfares ;  outward- 
bound  ships  lay  deserted  and  helpless  in  the  roads ;  the  wil- 
derness was  peopled  and  the  cities  desolate;  commerce  was 
paralysed,  industry  contracted ;  the  wise  and  good  trembled 
for  the  destiny  of  the  people,  the  Government  trembled  for 
itself — idle  fear.  That  which  shook  this  colony  for  a  mo- 
ment settled  it  firm  as  a  granite  mountain,  and  made  it  great 

508 


\ 


4 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

with  a  rapidity  that  would  have  astounded  the  puny  ages 
cant  appeals  to  as  the  days  of  wonders. 

The  sacra  fames  was  not  Australian,  but  human ;  and  so  at 
the  first  whisper  of  gold  the  old  nations  poured  the  wealth 
they  valued — their  food  and  clothes  and  silk  and  coin — and 
the  prime  treasure  they  valued  not,  their  men — into  that  fa- 
voured land. 

Then  did  great  Labour,  insulted  and  cheated  so  many  years 
in  narrow  overcrowded  corners  of  the  huge  unpeopled  globe, 
lift  his  bare  arm  and  cry,  ''Who  bids  for  this?"  and  a  dozen 
gloved  hands  jumped  and  clutched  at  the  prize;  and  in  bar- 
gains where  a  man  went  on  one  side  and  money  on  the  other, 
the  money  had  to  say  "Thank  you"  over  it,  instead  of  the 
man. 

But  still  though  the  average  value  of  labour  was  now  full 
as  high  in  the  cities  as  in  the  mine,  men  flowed  to  the  desert 
and  the  gold,  tempted  by  the  enormous  prizes  there,  that  lay 
close  to  all  and  came  to  fortune's  favourites.  Hence  a  new 
wonder,  a  great  moral  phenomenon,  the  world  had  never  seen 
before  on  such  a  wide  scale.  At  a  period  of  unparalleled  civ- 
ilisation and  refinement,  society,  with  its  artificial  habits  and 
its  jealous  class  distinctions  on  its  back,  took  a  sudden  un- 
prepared leap  from  the  heights  it  had  been  centuries  con- 
structing into  a  gold-mine ;  it  emerged,  its  delicate  fabric 
crushed  out  of  all  recognisable  shape,  its  petty  prides  anni- 
hilated, and  even  its  just  distinctions  turned  topsy-turvy;  for 
mind  is  really  more  honourable  than  muscle,  yet  when  these 
two  met  in  a  gold-mine  it  fared  ill  with  mind.  Classical  and 
mathematical  scholars  joined  their  forces  with  navvies  to  dig 
gold,  and  nearly  always  the  scholars  were  found  after  a  while 
cooking,  shoe-cleaning,  and  doing  generally  menial  offices  for 
the  navvies. 

Those  who  had  no  learning,  but  had  good  birth,  genteel 
manners,  and  kid  gloves  and  feeble  loins  sank  lower  and  be- 
came the  dregs  of  gold-digging  society  ere  a  week's  digging 
had  passed  over  their  backs.  Not  that  all  wit  yielded  to 
muscle.  Low  cunning  often  held  its  own ;  hundreds  of  lazy 
leeches  settled  on  labour's  bare  arm  and  bled  it.  Such  as 
could  minister  to  the  digger's  physical  needs,  appetites,  vices, 
had  no  need  to  dig;  they  made  the  diggers  work  for  them, 

509 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

and  took  toll  of  the  precious  dust  as  it  fell  into  their  hands. 

One  brute  that  could  not  spell  chicoree  to  save  himself 
from  the  gallows  cleared  two  thousand  pounds  a  month  by 
selling  it  and  hot  water  at  a  pinch  a  cup.  Thus  ran  his  an- 
nouncement— "Cofy  alius  rady."  Meantime  Trigonometry 
was  frying  steaks  and  on  Sunday  blacking  boots.  After  a 
while  lucky  diggers  returned  to  the  towns  clogged  with  gold, 
and  lusting  and  panting  for  pleasure.  They  hired  carriages 
and  sweethearts,  and  paraded  the  streets  all  day,  crying,  "We 
be  the  hairy-stocracy  now !" 

The  shopkeepers  bowed  down  and  did  them  homage.  Even 
here  Nature  had  her  say.  The  sexes  came  out — the  men  sat 
in  the  carriages  in  their  dirty  fustian  and  their  chequered 
shirts  and  no  jacket;  their  inamoratas  beside  them  glittered 
in  silk  and  satin ;  and  some  fiend  told  these  poor  women  it 
was  genteel  to  be  short-sighted ;  so  they  all  bought  gold  spy- 
glasses, and  spied  without  intermission. 

Then  the  old  colonial  aristocracy,  who  had  been  born  in 
broadcloth  and  silk,  and,  unlike  the  new,  had  not  been  trans- 
ported, but  only  their  papas  and  mammas,  were  driven  to 
despair ;  but  at  last  they  hit  upon  a  remedy.  They  would  be 
distinguished  by  hook  or  by  crook,  and  the  only  way  left  now 
was  always  to  go  on  foot.  So  they  walked  the  pavement — 
wet  or  dry,  nothing  could  induce  them  to  enter  the  door  of  a 
carriage.  Item:  they  gave  up  being  short-sighted;  the  few 
who,  for  reasons  distinct  from  fashion,  could  not  resign  the 
habit,  concealed  it,  as  if  it  was  a  defect  instead  of  a  beauty. 
The  struggle  of  classes  in  the  towns,  with  its  hundred  and 
one  incidents,  was  an  excellent  theme  for  satire  of  the  high- 
est class.  How  has  it  escaped?  Is  it  that  even  satire,  low 
and  easy  art,  is  not  so  low  and  easy  as  detraction  ?  But  these 
are  the  outskirts  of  a  great  theme.  The  theme  itself  be- 
longed not  to  little  satire,  but  to  great  epic. 

In  the  sudden  return  of  a  society,  far  more  complex,  arti- 
ficial, and  conventional  than  Pericles  ever  dreamed  of,  to  ele- 
ments more  primitive  than  Homer  had  to  deal  with;  in  this 
with  its  novelty,  and  nature,  and  strange  contrasts ;  in  the 
old  barbaric  force  and  native  colour  of  the  passions  as  they 
burst  out  undisguised  around  the  gold ;  in  the  hundred  and 
one  personal  combats  and  trials  of  cunning;  in  a  desert  peo- 

510 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

pled  and  cities  thinned  by  the  magic  of  cupidity ;  in  a  huge 
army  collected  in  ten  thousand  tents,  not  as  heretofore  by 
one  man's  constraining  will,  but  each  human  unit  spurred 
into  the  crowd  by  his  own  heart;  in  "the  siege  of  gold,"  de- 
fended stoutly  by  Rock  and  Disease ;  in  the  world-wide  effect 
of  the  discovery,  the  peopling  of  the  earth  at  last  according 
to  Heaven's  long-published  and  resisted  design ;  fate  offered 
poetry  a  theme  broad  and  high  yet  piquant,  and  various  as 
the  dolphin  and  the  rainbow. 

I  cannot  sing  this  song,  because  I  am  neither  Lamartine, 
nor  Hugo,  nor  Walter  Scott.  I  cannot  hum  this  song,  be- 
cause the  severe  conditions  of  my  story  forbid  me  even  to 
make  the  adventurous  attempt.  I  am  here  to  tell  not  the 
great  tale  of  gold,  but  the  little  story  of  how  Susan  Merton 
was  affected  thereby.  Yet  it  shall  never  be  said  that  my  pen 
passed  close  to  a  great  man  or  a  great  thing  without  a  word 
of  homage  and  sympathy  to  set  against  the  sneers  of  grovel- 
ling criticasters,  the  blindness  of  self-singing  poetasters,  and 
the  national  itch  for  detraction  of  all  great  things  and  men 
that  live,  and  deification  of  dead  dwarfs. 

God  has  been  bountiful  to  the  human  race  in  this  age. 
Most  bountiful  to  poets ;  most  bountiful  to  all  of  us  who  have 
a  spark  of  nobleness  in  ourselves,  and  so  can  see  and  revere 
at  sight  the  truly  grand  and  noble  (any  snob  can  do  this  after 
it  has  been  settled  two  hundred  years  by  other  minds  that 
he  is  to  do  it).  He  has  given  us  warlike  heroes  more  than 
we  can  count — far  less  honour  as  they  deserve ;  and  valour 
as  full  of  variety  as  courage  in  the  Iliad  is  monotonous — ex- 
cept when  it  takes  to  its  heels. 

He  has  given  us  one  hero,  a  better  man  than  Hector  or 
Achilles.  For  Hector  ran  away  from  a  single  man ;  this  hero 
was  never  known  to  run  away  at  all.  Achilles  was  a  better 
egotist  than  soldier;  wounded  in  his  personal  vanity,  he  re- 
venged himself,  not  on  the  man  who  had  wronged  him — pru- 
dence forbade — but  on  the  army  and  on  his  country.  This 
antique  hero  sulked ;  my  hero,  deprived  of  the  highest  com- 
mand, retained  a  higher  still — the  command  that  places  the 
great  of  heart  above  all  petty  personal  feeling.  He  was  a 
soldier,  and  could  not  look  from  his  tent  on  battle  and  not 
plunge  into  it.     What  true  soldier  ever  could?     He  was  not 

mi 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

a  Greek,  but  a  Frenchman,  and  could  not  love  himself  better 
than  his  country.  Above  all,  he  was  not  Achilles,  but 
Canrobert. 

He  has  given  us  to  see  Nineveh  disinterred  by  an  English 
hero.  He  has  given  us  to  see  the  north-west  passage  forced, 
and  winter  bearded  on  his  everlasting  throne  by  another.  (Is 
it  the  hero's  fault  if  self  and  snowdrop-singing  poetasters 
cannot  see  this  feat  with  the  eyes  of  Camoens  ?) 

He  has  given  us  to  see  Titans  enslaved  by  man ;  steam  har- 
nessed to  our  carriages  and  ships ;  galvanism  tamed  into  an 
alphabet — a  gamut,  and  its  metal  harp-strings  stretched  across 
the  earth  malgre  mountains  and  the  sea,  and  so  men's  minds 
defying  the  twin  monsters  Time  and  Space;  and  now,  gold 
revealed  in  the  east  and  west  at  once,  and  so  mankind  now 
first  in  earnest  peopling  the  enormous  globe.  Yet  old  women 
and  children  of  the  pen  say  this  is  a  bad,  a  small,  a  lifeless, 
an  unpoetic  age : — and  they  are  not  mistaken.  For  they 
lie. 

As  only  tooth-stoppers,  retailers  of  conventional  phrases, 
links  in  the  great  cuckoo-chain,  universal  pill-venders,  Satan, 
and  ancient  booksellers,  ancient  nameless  hacks  can  lie,  they 
lie. 

It  is  they  who  are  small-eyed.  Now,  as  heretofore,  weak- 
lings cannot  rise  high  enough  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
their  own  age  and  calculate  its  dimensions. 

The  age,  smaller  than  epochs  to  come,  is  a  giant  compared 
with  the  past,  and  full  of  mighty  materials  for  any  great  pen 
in  prose  or  verse. 

My  little  friends  aged  nineteen  and  downwards — fourscore 
and  upwards — who  have  been  lending  your  ears  to  the  stale 
little  cant  of  every  age  as  chanted  in  this  one  by  Buffo-Bom- 
bastes  and  other  foaming-at-the-pen  old  women  of  both  sexes, 
— take  by  way  of  antidote  to  all  that  poisonous  soul-wither- 
ing drivel  ten  honest  words.  I  say  before  heaven  and  earth 
that  the  man  who  could  grasp  the  facts  of  this  day  and  do  an 
immortal  writer's  duty  by  them,  i.e.,  so  paint  them  as  a  later 
age  will  be  content  to  engrave  them,  would  be  the  greatest 
writer  ever  lived :  such  is  the  force,  weight,  and  number  of 
the  grand  topics  that  lie  this  day  on  the  world's  face.  I  say 
that  he  who  has  eyes  to  see  may  now  see  greater  and  far 

512 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

more  poetic  things  than  human  eyes  have  seen  since  our  Lord 
and  His  apostles  and  His  miracles  left  the  earth. 

It  is  very  hard  to  write  a  good  book  or  a  good  play,  or  to 
invent  a  good  picture,  and  having  invented  paint  it.  But  it 
always  was  hard,  except  to  those  to  whom  it  was  impossible. 
Bunglers  will  not  mend  matters  by  blackening  the  great  can- 
vasses they  can't  paint  on,  nor  the  impotent  become  males  by 
detraction. 

"Justice!"  When  we  write  a  story  or  sing  a  poem  of  the 
great  nineteenth  century,  there  is  but  one  fear — not  that  our 
theme  will  be  beneath  us,  but  we  miles  below  it ;  that  we 
shall  lack  the  comprehensive  vision  a  man  must  have  from 
heaven  to  catch  the  historical,  the  poetic,  the  lasting  features 
of  the  Titan  events  that  stride  so  swiftly  past  in  this  gigan- 
tic AGE. 


CHAPTER   LVII. 

THE  life  of  George  Fielding  and  Thomas  Robinson  for 
months  could  be  composed  in  a  few  words — tremen- 
dous work  from  sunrise  to  sundown,  and  on  Sunday  welcome 
rest,  a  quiet  pipe  and  a  book.  At  night  they  slept  in  a  good 
tent,  with  Carlo  at  their  feet,  and  a  little  bag  between  them ; 
this  bag  never  left  their  sight :  it  went  out  to  their  work,  and 
in  to  sleep. 

It  is  dinner-time ;  George  and  Tom  are  snatching  a  mouth- 
ful, and  a  few  words  over  it. 

"How  much  do  you  think  we  are,  Tom  ?" 

"Hush !  don't  speak  so  loud,  for  Heaven's  sake."  he  added 
in  a  whisper;  "not  a  penny  under  seven  hundred  pounds' 
worth." 

George  sighed.  "It  is  slower  work  than  I  thought;  but  it 
is  my  fault,  I  am  so  unlucky." 

"Unlucky !  and  we  have  not  been  eight  months  at  it." 

"But  one  party  near  us  cleared  four  thousand  pounds  at  a 
haul ;  one  thousand  pounds  apiece — ah  !" 

"And  hundreds  have  only  just  been  able  to  keep  them- 
selves. Come,  you  must  not  grumble ;  we  are  high  above  the 
average." 

5T3 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

George  persisted.  ''The  reason  we  don't  get  on  is,  we  try 
for  nothing  better  than  dust.  You  know  what  you  told  me, 
that  the  gold  was  never  created  in  dust,  but  in  masses  like  all 
metals ;  the  dust  is  only  a  trifle  that  has  been  washed  off  the 
bulk.  Then  you  said  we  ought  to  track  the  gold-dust  coarser 
and  coarser,  till  we  traced  the  metal  to  its  home  in  the  great 
rocks." 

"Ay !  ay !  I  believe  I  used  to  talk  so,  but  I  am  wiser  now. 
Look  here,  George;  no  doubt  the  gold  was  all  in  block  when 
the  world  started,  but  how  many  million  years  ago  was  that? 
This  is  my  notion,  George,  at  the  beginning  of  the  world  the 
gold  was  all  solid,  at  the  end  it  is  all  to  be  dust.  Now  which 
are  we  nearer,  the  end  or  the  beginning?" 

"Not  knowing,  can't  say,  Tom." 

"Then  I  can,  for  his  reverence  told  me.  We  are  fifty  times 
nearer  the  end  than  the  beginning ;  follows  there  is  fifty  times 
as  much  gold  dust  in  nature  as  solid  gold." 

"What  a  head  you  ha'  got,  Tom!  But  I  can't  take  it  up 
so :  seems  to  me  this  dust  is  like  the  grain  that  is  shed  from 
a  ripe  crop  before  it  comes  to  the  sickle.  Now  if  we  could 
trace " 

"How  can  you  trace  syrup  up  to  the  lump  when  the  lump 
is  all  turned  to  syrup?"  George  held  his  peace — shut  up  but 
not  convinced. 

"Hallo !  you  two  lucky  ones,"  cried  a  voice  distant  about 
thirty  yards ;  "will  you  buy  our  hole  ?  It  is  breaking  our 
heart  here." 

Robinson  went  up  and  found  a  large  hole  excavated  to  a 
great  depth ;  it  was  yielding  literally  nothing,  and  this  deter- 
mined that  paradoxical  personage  to  buy  it  if  it  was  cheap. 
"What  there  is  must  be  somewhere  all  in  a  lump."  He  of- 
fered ten  pounds  for  it,  which  was  eagerly  snapped  at. 

"Well  done,  Gardiner,"  said  one  of  the  band.  "We  would 
have  taken  ten  shillings  for  it,"  explained  he  to  Robinson. 

Robinson  paid  the  money,  and  let  himself  down  into  the 
hole  with  his  spade.  He  drove  his  spade  into  the  clay,  and 
the  bottom  of  it  just  reached  the  rock;  he  looked  up.  "I 
would  have  gone  just  one  foot  deeper  before  I  gave  in,"  said 
he.  He  called  George.  "Come,  George,  we  can  know  our 
fate  in  ten  minutes." 

514 


f 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

They  shovelled  the  clay  away  down  to  about  one  inch  above 
the  rock,  and  there  in  the  white  clay  they  found  a  little  bit 
of  gold  as  big  as  a  pin's  head. 

"We  have  done  it  this  time,"  cried  Robinson.  "Shave  a 
little  more  off,  not  too  deep,  and  save  the  clay."  This  time 
a  score  of  little  nuggets  came  to  view  sticking  in  the  clay ;  no 
need  for  washing;  they  picked  them  out  with  their  knives. 

The  news  soon  spread,  and  a  multitude  buzzed  round  the 
hole  and  looked  down  on  the  men  picking  out  peas  and  beans 
of  pure  gold  with  their  knives.  Presently  a  voice  cried, 
"Shame !  give  the  men  back  their  hole !" 

"Gammon !"  cried  others ;  "they  paid  for  a  chance,  and 
it  turned  out  well ;  a  bargain  is  a  bargain." 

Gardiner  and  his  mates  looked  sorrowfully  down.  Robin- 
son saw  their  faces,  and  came  out  of  the  hole  a  moment.  He 
took  Gardiner  aside  and  whispered,  "Jump  into  our  hole  like 
lightning,  it  is  worth  four  pound  a  day." 

"God  bless  you !"  said  Gardiner.  He  ran  and  jumped  into 
the  hole,  just  as  another  man  was  going  to  take  possession. 
By  digger's  law  no  party  is  allowed  to  occupy  two  holes. 

All  that  afternoon  there  was  a  mob  looking  down  at  George 
and  Robinson  picking  out  peas  and  beans  of  gold,  and  envy's 
Satanic  fire  burned  many  a  heart ;  these  two  were  picking  up 
at  least  a  hundred  pounds  an  hour. 

Now  it  happened  late  in  the  afternoon  that  a  man  of  shabby 
figure,  evidently  not  a  digger,  observing  that  there  was  al- 
ways more  or  less  crowd  in  one  place,  shambled  up  and 
looked  down  with  the  rest;  as  he  looked  down,  George  hap- 
pened to  look  up ;  the  new-comer  drew  back  hastily.  After 
that  his  proceedings  were  singular — he  remained  in  the  crowd 
more  than  two  hours,  not  stationary,  but  winding  in  and  out. 
He  listened  to  everything  that  was  said,  especially  if  it  was 
muttered  and  not  spoken  out ;  and  he  peered  into  every  face, 
and  peering  into  every  face,  it  befell  that  at  last  his  eye 
lighted  on  one  that  seemed  to  fascinate  him ;  it  belonged  to  a 
fellow  with  a  great  bull-neck,  and  hair  and  beard  flowing  all 
into  one — a  man  more  like  the  black-maned  lion  of  North 
Africa  than  anything  else.  But  it  was  not  his  appearance 
that  fascinated  the  serpentine  one,  it  was  the  look  he  cast 
down  upon  those  two  lucky  diggers ;  a  scowl  of  tremendous 

'  515 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

hatred — hatred  unto  death.  Instinct  told  the  serpent  there 
must  be  more  in  this  than  extempore  envy.  He  waited  and 
watched,  and  when  the  black-maned  one  moved  away,  he  fol- 
lowed him  about  everywhere  till  at  last  he  got  him  alone. 
Then  he  sidled  up,  and  in  a  cringing  way  said — 

"What  luck  some  men  have,  don't  they !" 

The  man  answered  by  a  fierce  grunt.  The  serpent  was 
half  afraid  of  him,  but  he  went  on. 

"There  will  be  a  good  lump  of  gold  in  their  tent  to-night." 
The  other  seemed  struck  with  these  words. 

"They  have  been  lucky  a  long  time,"  explained  the  other, 
"and  now  this  added." 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"Nothing!  only  I  wish  somebody  else  had  it  instead." 

"Why?" — "That  is  a  secret  for  the  present.  I  only  tell 
you,  because  I  think  somehow  they  are  no  friends  of  yours 
either." 

"Perhaps  not !  what  then  ?" 

"Then  we  might  perhaps  do  business  together ;  it  will  strike 
you  singular,  but  I  have  a  friend  who  would  give  money  to 
any  one  that  would  take  a  little  from  those  two." 

"Say  that  again." — "Would  give  money  to  any  one  that 
would  take  it  from  those  two." 

"And  you  won't  ask  for  any  share  of  the  swag?" 

"Me !     I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Gammon!  Well,  your  friend!  will  he?" — "Not  a  far- 
thing!" 

"And  what  will  he  give,  suppose  I  have  a  friend  that  will 
do  the  trick?" — "According  to  the  risk." 

The  man  gave  a  whistle.  A  fellow  with  forehead  villain- 
ously low  came  from  behind  some  tents. 

"What  is  it,  Will?"  asked  the  new-comer. 

"A  plant." 

"This  one  in  it?" 

"Yes  I    This  is  too  public ;  come  to  Bevan's  store." 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

GEORGE,  I  want  you  to  go  to  Bathurst." 
"What  for?"— "To  buy  some  things!" 

"What  things?" — "First  of  all  a  revolver;  there  were  fel- 
lows about  our  tent  last  night  creeping  and  prowling." 

"I  never  heard  them." 

"No  more  you  would  an  earthquake ;  but  I  heard  them  and 
got  up,  and  pointed  my  revolver  at  them,  so  then  they  cut — 
all  the  better  for  them.  We  must  mind  our  eye,  George;  a 
good  many  tents  are  robbed  every  week,  and  we  are  known 
to  have  a  good  swag." 

"Well,  I  must  start  this  moment  if  I  am  to  be  back." 

"And  take  a  pound  of  dust  and  buy  things  that  we  can  sell 
here  to  a  profit." 

George  came  back  at  night  looking  rather  sheepfaced. 

"Tom,"  said  he,  "I  am  afraid  I  have  done  wrong.  You 
see  there  was  a  confounded  auction,  and  what  with  the  ham- 
mer and  the  folk  bidding,  and  his  palaver,  I  could  not  help  it." 

"But  what  is  it  you  have  bought?" 

"A  bit  o'  land,  Tom." 

Robinson  groaned ;  but,  recovering  himself,  he  said  gaily, 
"Well,  have  you  brought  it  with  you?" 

"No,  it  is  not  so  small  as  all  that ;  as  nice  a  bit  of  grass  as 
ever  you  saw,  Tom,  and  just  outside  the  town  of  Bathurst; 
only  I  didn't  ought  to  have  spent  your  money  as  well  as  my 
own." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense !  I  accept  the  investment.  Let  me 
load  your  new  revolver.  Now,  look  at  my  day's  work.  I 
wouldn't  take  a  hundred  pounds  for  these  little  fellows." 

George  gloated  over  the  little  nuggets,  for  he  saw  Susan's 
eyes  in  them.  To-night  she  seemed  so  near.  The  little  bag 
was  placed  between  them,  the  day's  spoils  added  to  it,  and 
the  tired  friends  were  soon  asleep. 


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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

HELP !  help !  murder !  help !  murder !" 
Such  were  the  cries  that  invaded  the  sleepers'  ears 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to  which  horrible  sounds  was  add- 
ed the  furious  barking  of  Carlo.  The  men  seized  their  re- 
volvers and  rushed  out  of  the  tent.  At  about  sixty  yards 
distant  they  saw  a  man  on  the  ground  struggling  under  two 
fellows,  and  still  crying,  though  more  faintly,  "murder"  and 
"help." 

"They  are  killing  him !"  cried  George,  and  Robinson  and 
he  cocked  their  revolvers  and  ran  furiously  towards  the  men. 
But  these  did  not  wait  the  attack.  They  started  up  and  off 
like  the  wind,  followed  by  two  shots  from  Robinson'  that 
whistled  unpleasantly  near  them. 

"Have  they  hurt  you,  my  poor  fellow?"  said  Robin- 
son. 

The  man  only  groaned  for  answer.  Robinson  turned  his 
face  up  in  the  moonlight,  and  recognised  a  man  to  whom  he 
had  never  spoken,  but  whom  his  watchful  eye  had  noticed 
more  than  once  in  the  mine — it  was,  in  fact,  the  pedlar 
Walker. 

"Stop,  George ;  I  have  seen  this  face  in  bad  company.  Oh, 
back  to  our  tent  for  your  life,  and  kill  any  man  you  see 
near  it." 

They  ran  back.  They  saw  two  dark  figures  melting  into 
the  night  on  the  other  side  the  tent.  They  darted  in — ^they 
felt  for  the  bag.  Gone !  They  felt  convulsively  all  round 
the  tent.  Gone !  With  trembling  hands  Robinson  struck  a 
light.  Gone — the  work  of  months  gone  in  a  moment — the 
hope  of  a  life  snatched  out  of  a  lover's  very  hand,  and  held 
out  a  mile  off  again ! 

The  poor  fellows  rushed  wildly  out  into  the  night.  They 
saw  nothing  but  the  wretched  decoy  vanishing  behind  the 
nearest  tents.  They  came  into  the  tent  again.  They  sat 
down  and  bowed  to  the  blow  in  silence,  and  looked  at  one 
another,  and  their  lips  quivered,  and  they  feared  to  speak 
lest  they  should  break  into  unmanly  rage  or  sorrow.  So 
they  sat  like  stone  till  daybreak.     And  when  the  first  streak 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

of  twilight  came  in,  George  said  in  a  firm  whisper,  "Take  my 
hand,  Tom,  before  we  go  to  work." 

So  the  two  friends  sat  hand  in  hand  a  minute  or  two ;  and 
that  hard  grip  of  two  working-men's  hands,  though  it  was 
not  gently  eloquent  like  beauty's  soft  expressive  palm,  did  yet 
say  many  things  good  for  the  heart  in  this  bitter  hour. 

It  said,  "A  great  calamity  has  fallen ;  but  we  do  not  blame 
each  other,  as  some  turn  to  directly  and  do.  It  is  not  your 
fault,  George.     It  is  not  your  fault,  Tom." 

It  said,  "We  were  lucky  together;  now  we  are  unlucky 
together — all  the  more  friends.  We  wrought  together ;  now 
we  have  been  wronged  together — all  the  more  friends."  With 
this  the  sun  rose,  and  for  the  first  time  they  crept  to  their 
work  instead  of  springing  to  it. 

They  still  found  gold  in  it.  But  not  quite  so  abundant  or 
so  large.  They  had  raised  the  cream  of  it  for  the  thieves. 
Moreover,  a  rush  had  been  made  to  the  hole,  claims  measured 
oflF  actually  touching  them ;  so  they  could  not  follow  the 
gold-bearing  strata  horizontally — it  belonged  to  their  neigh- 
bours. They  worked  in  silence — they  ate  their  meal  in  si- 
lence. But  as  they  rose  to  work  again,  Robinson  said  very 
gravely,  even  solemnly,  "George,  now  I  know  what  an  hon- 
est man  feels  when  he  is  robbed  of  the  fruits  of  his  work 
and  his  self-denial  and  his  sobriety.  If  I  had  known  it  fif- 
teen years  ago,  I  should  never  have  been  a — what  I  have 
been." 

For  two  months  the  friends  worked  stoutly  with  leaden 
hearts,  but  did  little  more  than  pay  their  expenses.  The  bag 
lay  between  them  light  as  a  feather.  One  morning  Tom  said 
to  George,  "George,  this  won't  do.  I  am  going  prospecting. 
Moore  will  lend  me  his  horse  for  a  day." 

That  day  George  worked  alone.  Robinson  rode  all  over 
the  country  with  a  tin  pan  at  his  back,  and  tested  all  the 
places  that  seemed  likely  to  his  experienced  eye.  At  night  he 
returned  to  their  tent.     George  was  just  lying  down. 

"No  sleep  to-night,  George,"  said  he,  instinctively  lowering 
his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "I  have  found  surface-gold  ten 
miles  to  the  southward." 

"Well,  we  will  go  to  it  to-morrow." 

"What,   by  daylight,   watched   as   we  are? — we  the   two 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

lucky  ones,"  said  Robinson  bitterly.  "No!  Wait  till  the 
coast  is  clear — then  strike  tent  and  away." 

At  midnight  they  stole  out  of  the  camp.  By  peep  of  day 
they  were  in  a  little  dell  with  a  brook  running  at  the  bottom 
of  it. 

"Now,  George,  listen  to  me.  Here  is  ten  thousand  pounds 
if  we  could  keep  this  gully  and  the  creek  a  fortnight  to  our- 
selves." 

"Oh,  Tom !  and  we  will.  Nobody  will  find  us  here ;  it  is 
like  a  box." 

Robinson  smiled  sadly.  The  men  drove  their  spades  in 
close  to  the  little  hole  which  Robinson  had  made  prospecting 
yesterday,  and  the  very  first  cradle-full  yielded  an  ounce  of 
gold-dust  extremely  small  and  pure.  They  found  it  diffused 
with  wonderful  regularity  within  a  few  inches  of  the  surface. 
Here,  for  the  first  time,  George  saw  gold-dust  so  plentiful 
as  to  be  visible.  When  a  spade-full  of  the  clay  was  turned 
up,  it  glittered  all  over;  when  they  tore  up  the  grass,  which 
was  green  as  an  emerald,  specks  of  bright  gold  came  up  cling- 
ing to  the  roots.     They  fell  like  spaded  tigers  on  the  prey. 

"What  are  you  doing,  George  ?" — "Going  to  light  a  fire  for 
dinner.  We  must  eat,  I  suppose,  though  I  do  grudge  the 
time." 

"We  must  eat,  but  not  hot."— "Why  not?" 

"Because  if  you  light  a  fire  the  smoke  will  be  seen  miles 
off,  and  half  the  diggings  will  be  down  upon  us.  I  have 
brought  three  days*  cold  meat — here  it  is." 

"Will  this  be  enough?"  asked  George  simply,  his  mouth 
full. 

"Yes,  it  will  be  enough,"  replied  the  other  bitterly.  "Do 
you  hear  that  bird,  George?  They  call  him  a  leather-head. 
What  is  he  singing?" 

George  laughed.  "Seems  to  me  he  is  saying,  'Off  we  go! 
Off  we  go!     Off  we  go!'" 

"That  is  it.  And  look  now,  off  he  is  gone:  and  what  is 
more,  he  has  gone  to  tell  all  the  world  he  saw  two  men  pick 
up  gold  like  beans." 

"Work!"  cried  George. 

That  night  the  little  bag  felt  twice  as  heavy  as  last  night, 
and  Susan  seemed  nearer  than  for  many  a  day.     These  two 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

worked  for  their  lives.  They  counted  each  minute,  and 
George  was  a  Goliath;  the  soil  flew  round  him  like  the  dust 
about  a  winnowing-machine :  he  was  working  for  Susan. 
Robinson  wasted  two  seconds  admiring  him. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "gold  puts  us  all  on  our  mettle,  but  you 
beat  all  ever  I  saw.     You  are  a  man." 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  and  the  friends  were 
filling  the  little  bag  fast ;  and  at  breakfast  George  quizzed 
Robinson's  late  fears. 

"The  leather-head  didn't  tell  anybody,  for  here  we  are  all 
alone."     Robinson  laughed. 

"But  we  should  not  have  been  if  I  had  let  you  light  a  fire. 
However,  I  really  begin  to  hope  now  they  will  let  us  alone 
till  we  have  cleared  out  the  gully.     Hallo !" 

"What  is  the  matter?" — "Look  there,  George." 

"What  is  it?     Smoke  rising  down  the  valley." 

"We  are  done !     Didn't  I  tell  you  ?" 

"Don't  say  so,  Tom.  Why,  it  is  only  smoke,  and  five 
miles  off." 

"What  signifies  what  it  is  or  where  it  is  ?  It  is  on  the  road 
to  us." 

"I  hope  better." 

"What  is  the  use  of  hoping  nonsense?  Was  it  there  yes- 
terday?    Well,  then." 

"Don't  you  be  faint-hearted,"  said  George.  "We  are  not 
caught  yet.  I  wonder  whether  Susan  would  say  it  was  a  sin 
to  try  and  mislead  them  ?" 

"A  sin !  I  wish  I  knew  how ;  I'd  soon  see.  That  was  a 
good  notion.  This  place  is  five  hundred  pound  a  day  to  us. 
We  must  keep  it  to-day  by  hook  or  by  crook.  Come  with  me 
quick.     Bring  your  tools  and  the  bag." 

George  followed  Robinson  in  utter  ignorance  of  his  design ; 
that  worthy  made  his  way  as  fast  as  he  could  towards  the 
smoke.  When  they  got  within  a  mile  of  it  the  valley 
widened,  and  the  smoke  was  seen  rising  from  the  side  of  the 
stream.  Concealing  themselves,  they  saw  two  men  beating 
the  ground  on  each  side  like  pointers.  Robinson  drew  back. 
"They  are  hunting  up  the  stream,"  said  he ;  "it  is  there  we 
must  put  the  stopper  on  them. 

They  made  eastward  for  the  stream  which  they  had  left. 

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IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


1 


"Come,"  said  Robinson,  "here  is  a  spot  that  looks  Hkely  to 
a  novice :  dig  and  cut  it  up  all  you  can." 

George  was  mystified,  but  obeyed,  and  soon  the  place 
looked  as  if  men  had  been  at  work  on  it  some  time.  Then 
Robinson  took  out  a  handful  of  gold-dust,  and  coolly  scat- 
tered it  over  a  large  heap  of  mould. 

"What  are  you  at?  Are  you  mad,  Tom?  Why,  there 
goes  five  pounds.     What  a  sin!" 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  the  man  that  flung  away  a  sprat 
to  catch  a  whale?  Now  turn  back  to  our  hole.  Stop,  leave 
your  pickaxe,  then  they  will  think  we  are  coming  back  to 
work." 

In  little  more  than  half  an  hour  they  were  in  their  little 
gully  working  like  mad.  They  ate  their  dinner  working.  At 
five  o'clock  George  pointed  out  to  Robinson  no  less  than 
seven  distinct  columns  of  smoke  rising  about  a  mile  apart  all 
down  the  valley. 

"Ay !"  said  Robinson,  "those  six  smokes  are  hunting  the 
smoke  that  is  hunting  us ;  but  we  have  screwed  another  day 
out." 

Just  as  the  sun  was  setting  a  man  came  into  the  gully  with 
a  pickaxe  on  his  shoulder. 

"Ah!  how  d'ye  do?"  said  Robinson  in  a  mock  friendly  ac- 
cent. "We  have  been  expecting  you.  Thank  you  for  bring- 
ing us  our  pickaxe."  The  man  gave  a  sort  of  rueful  laugh, 
and  came  and  delivered  the  pick  and  coolly  watched  the 
cradle. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  what  you  want  to  know?"  said  Rob- 
inson. 

The  man  sneered.  "Is  that  the  way  to  get  the  truth  from 
a  digger?"  said  he. 

"It  is  from  me,  and  the  only  one." 

"Oh,  then,  what  are  you  doing,  mate?" — "About  ten 
ounces  of  gold  per  hour."  The  man's  mouth  and  eyes  both 
opened. 

"Come,  my  lad,"  said  Robinson  good-naturedly,  "of  course 
I  am  not  glad  you  have  found  us,  but  since  you  are  come,  call 
your  pals — light  fires — and  work  all  night.  To-morrow  it 
will  be  too  late." 

The  man  whistled.     He  was  soon  joined  by  two  more,  and 

522 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

afterwards  by  others.  The  whole  party  was  eight.  A  hur- 
ried conference  took  place,  and  presently  the  captain,  whose 
name  was  Ede,  came  up  to  Robinson  with  a  small  barrel  of 
beer  and  begged  him  and  his  pal  to  drink  as  much  as  they 
Hked.  They  were  very  glad  of  the  draught,  and  thanked  the 
men  warmly. 

The  new-comers  took  Robinson's  advice,  lighted  large 
fires,  divided  their  company,  and  groped  for  gold.  Every 
now  and  then  came  a  shout  of  joy,  and,  in  the  light  of  the 
fires,  the  wild  figures  showed  red  as  blood  against  the  black 
wall  of  night,  and  their  excited  eyes  glowed  like  carbuncles 
as  they  clawed  the  sparkling  dust.  George  and  Robinson, 
fatigued  already  by  a  long  day,  broke  down  about  three  in 
the  morning.  They  reeled  into  their  tent,  dug  a  hole,  put 
in  their  gold  bag,  stamped  it  down,  tumbled  dead  asleep  down 
over  it,  and  never  woke  till  morn. 

Gn  1  r-r-r !  gn  1  r-r-r ! 

"What  is  the  matter.  Carlo?"     Gn  1  r-r-r. 

Hum !  hum  !  hum  !     Crash  !  crash  ! 

At  these  sounds  Robinson  lifted  up  the  corner  of  his  tent. 
The  gully  was  a  digging.  He  ran  out  to  see  where  he  was  to 
work,  and  found  the  whole  soil  one  enormous  tanyard,  the 
pits  ten  feet  square,  and  so  close,  there  was  hardly  room  to 
walk  to  your  hole  without  tumbling  into  your  neighbour's. 
You  had  to  balance  yourself  and  move  like  boys  going  along 
a  beam  in  a  timber-yard.  In  one  of  these  he  found  Ede  and 
his  gang  working.  Mr.  Ede  had  acquired  a  black  eye,  ditto 
one  of  his  mates. 

"Good  morning,  Captain  Robinson,"  said  this  personage, 
with  a  general  gaiety  of  countenance  that  contrasted  most 
drolly  with  the  mourning  an  expressive  organ  had  gone 
into. 

"Well,  was  I  right?"  asked  Robinson,  looking  ruefully 
round  the  crowded  digging. 

"You  were.  Captain  Robinson,  and  thank  you  for  last 
night." 

"Well,  you  have  picked  up  my  name  somehow.  Now,  just 
tell  me  how  you  picked  up  something  else.  How  did  you 
suspect  us  in  this  retired  spot?" 

"We  were  working  just  clear  of  the  great  digging  by  the 

523 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

side  of  the  creek,  and  doing  no  good,  when  your  cork  came 
down." 

"My  cork?"— "Cork  out  of  your  bottle." 

"I  had  no  bottle.  Oh,  yes !  my  pal  had  a  bottle  of  small 
beer." 

"Ah!  he  must  have  thrown  it  into  the  creek,  for  a  cork 
came  down  to  us.  Then  I  looked  at  it,  and  I  said,  'Here  is 
a  cork  from  Moore's  store;  there  is  a  party  working  up- 
stream by  this  cork.'  " 

Robinson  gave  a  little  groan.  "We  are  never  to  be  at  the 
bottom  of  gold-digging,"  said  he. 

"So  we  came  up  the  stream,  and  tried  several  places  as  we 
came,  but  found  nothing;  at  last  we  came  to  your  pickaxe 
and  signs  of  work,  so  my  lads  would  stay  and  work  there, 
and  I  let  them  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  I  said,  'Come  now, 
lads,  the  party  we  are  after  is  higher  up.'  " 

"Now,  how  could  you  pretend  to  know  that?"  inquired 
Robinson  with  curiosity. 

"Easy  enough.  The  water  came  down  to  us  thick 
and  muddyish,  so  I  knew  you  were  washing  up 
stream." 

"Confound  my  stupid  head !"  cried  Robinson ;  "I  deserve 
to  have  it  cut  off,  after  all  my  experience."  And  he  actu- 
ally capered  with  vexation. 

"The  best  may  make  a  mistake,"  said  the  other  soothingly. 
"Well,  captain,  you  did  us  a  good  turn  last  night,  so  here  is 
your  claim.  We  put  your  pal's  pick  in  it — here  close  to  us. 
Oh,  there  was  a  lot  that  made  difficulties,  but  we  over-per- 
suaded them." 

"Indeed!  How?"— "Gave  them  a  hiding,  and  promised 
to  knock  out  any  one's  brains  that  went  into  it.  Oh,  kind- 
ness begets  kindness,  even  in  a  gold-mine." 

"It  does,"  cried  Robinson,  "and  the  proof  is  that  I  give  you 
the  claim.  Here,  come  this  way  and  seem  to  buy  it  of  me. 
All  their  eyes  are  upon  us.  Now,  split  your  gang,  and  four 
take  my  claim." 

"Well,  that  is  good  of  you.  But  what  will  you  do,  cap- 
tain? Where  shall  you  go?"  And  his  eyes  betrayed  his 
curiosity. 

"Humph  !     Well,  I  will  tell  you  on  condition  that  you  don't 

524 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

bring  two  thousand  after  me  again.  You  should  look  behind 
you  as  well  as  before,  stupid !" 

These  terms  agreed  to,  Robinson  let  Ede  know  that  he  was 
going  this  moment  back  to  the  old  digging.  The  other  was 
greatly  surprised.  Robinson  then  explained  that  in  the  old 
digging  gold  lay  at  various  depths,  and  was  inexhaustible; 
that  this  afternoon  there  would  be  a  rush  made  from  it  to 
Robinson's  Gully  (so  the  spot  where  they  stood  was  already 
called)  ;  that  thousands  of  good  claims  would  thus  by  dig- 
ger's law  be  vacated,  and  that  he  should  take  the  best  before 
the  rush  came  back,  which  would  be  immediately,  since  Rob- 
inson's Gully  would  be  emptied  of  its  gold  in  four  hours. 

"So  clear  out  your  two  claims,"  said  he.  'Tt  won't  take 
you  two  hours.  All  the  gold  lies  in  one  streak  four  inches 
deep.  Then  back  after  me;  I'll  give  you  the  office.  I'll  mark 
you  down  a  good  claim." 

Mr.  Ede,  who  was  not  used  to  this  sort  of  thing  since  he 
fought  for  gold,  wore  a  ludicrous  expression  of  surprise  and 
gratitude.  Robinson  read  it  and  grinned  superior,  but  the 
look  rendered  words  needless,  so  he  turned  the  conversation. 

"How  did  you  get  your  black  eye?" 

"Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  Fighting  with  the  blackguards  for 
your  claim."     It  was  now  Robinson's  turn  to  be  touched. 

"You  are  a  good  fellow.  You  and  I  must  be  friends.  Ah ! 
if  I  could  but  get  together  about  forty  decent  men  like  you, 
and  that  had  got  gold  to  lose." 

"Well,"  said  Ede,  "why  not?  Here  are  eight  that  have 
got  gold  to  lose,  thanks  to  you,  and  your  own  lot — that  makes 
ten.  We  could  easy  make  up  forty  for  any  good  lay ;  there 
is  my  hand  for  one.     What  is  it?" 

Robinson  took  Ede's  hand  with  a  haste  and  energy  that 
almost  startled  him,  and  his  features  darkened  with  an  ex- 
pression unusual  now  to  his  good-natured  face.  "To  put 
down  thieving  in  the  camp,"  said  he  sternly. 

"Ah !"  said  the  other  half-sadly  (the  desirableness  of  this 
had  occurred  to  him  before  now),  "but  how  are  we  to  do 
that?"  asked  he  incredulously.  "The  camp  is  choke  full  of 
them." 

Robinson  looked  blacker,  uglier,  and  more  in  earnest.  So 
was  his  answer  when  it  came. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Make  stealing  death  by  the  law." 
"The  law?    What  law?" 
"Lynch !" 


CHAPTER    LX. 

ONE  evening  about  a  fortnight  after  Robinson's  return 
to  the  diggings,  two  men  were  seated  in  a  small  room 
at  Sevan's  store.  There  was  little  risk  of  their  being  inter- 
rupted by  any  honest  digger,  for  it  was  the  middle  of  the  day. 

"I  know  that  well  enough,"  growled  the  black-maned  one; 
"everybody  knows  the  lucky  rip  has  got  a  heavier  swag  than 
ever ;  but  we  shan't  get  it  so  cheap,  if  we  do  at  all." 

"Why  not  ?" 

"He  is  on  his  guard  now,  night  and  day ;  and  what  is  more, 
he  has  got  friends  in  the  mine  that  would  hang  me  or  you 
either  up  to  dry,  if  they  but  caught  us  looking  too  near  his 
tent." 

"The  ruffians !  Well,  but  if  he  has  friends,  he  has 
enemies." 

"Not  so  many ;  none  that  I  know  of  but  you  and  me :  I 
wonder  what  he  has  done  to  you?" 

The  other  waived  this  question  and  replied,  "I  have  found 
two  parties  that  hate  him — two  that  came  in  last  week." 

"Have  you?  Then,  if  you  are  in  earnest,  make  me  ac- 
quainted with  them,  for  I  am  weak-handed ;  I  lost  one  of  my 
pals  yesterday." 

"Indeed !  how?" — "They  caught  him  at  work  and  gave  him 

a  rap  over  the  head  with  a  spade.     The  more  fool  he 

for  being  caught.     Here  is  to  his  memory." 

"Ugh!  what  is  he?  is  he " 

"Dead  as  a  herring." 

"Where  shall  we  all  go  to?  What  lawless  fellows  these 
diggers  are !     I  will  bring  you  the  men." 

For  the  last  two  months  the  serpentine  man  had  wound  in 
and  out  the  camp,  poking  about  for  a  villain  of  the  darker 
sort  as  minutely  as  Diogenes  did  for  an  honest  man,  and  dis- 
pensing liquor  and  watching  looks  and  words.  He  found 
rogues  galore,  and  envious  spirits  that  wished  the  friends  ill, 

526 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

but  none  of  them  seemed  game  to  risk  their  lives  against  two 
men,  one  of  whom  said  openly  he  would  kill  any  stranger  he 
caught  in  his  tent,  and  whom  some  fifty  stout  fellows  called 
Captain  Robinson,  and  were  ready  to  take  up  his  quarrel  like 
fire.  But  at  last  he  fell  in  with  two  old  lags,  who  had  a 
deadly  grudge  against  the  captain,  and  a  sovereign  contempt 
for  him  into  the  bargain.  By  the  aid  of  liquor  he  wormed 
out  their  story.  This  was  the  marrow  of  it : — The  captain 
had  been  their  pal,  and  while  they  were  all  three  cracking  a 
crib,  had  with  unexampled  treachery  betrayed  them,  and  got 
them  laid  by  the  heels  for  nearly  a  year :  in  fact,  if  they  had 
not  broken  prison  they  would  not  have  been  here  now.  In 
short,  in  less  than  half  an  hour  he  returned  with  our  old 
acquaintances  brutus  and  mephistopheles. 

These  two  came  half-reluctant,  suspicious,  and  reserved ; 
but  at  sight  of  Black  Will  they  were  reassured,  villain  was  so 
stamped  on  him.  With  instantaneous  sympathy  and  in  in- 
stinct of  confidence  the  three  compared  notes,  and  showed 
how  each  had  been  aggrieved  by  the  common  enemy.  Next 
they  held  a  council  of  war,  the  grand  object  of  which  was  to 
hit  upon  some  plan  of  robbing  the  friends  of  their  new 
swag. 

It  was  a  difficult  and  very  dangerous  job.  Plans  were 
proposed  and  rejected,  and  nothing  agreed  upon  but  this,  that 
the  men  should  be  carefully  watched  for  days  to  find  out 
where  they  kept  their  gold  at  night  and  where  by  day,  and  an 
attempt  timed  and  regulated  accordingly.  Moreover,  the 
same  afternoon  a  special  gang  of  six  was  formed,  including 
Walker,  which  pitiful  fox  was  greatly  patronised  by  the 
black-maned  lion.  At  sight  of  him,  brutus,  who  knew  him 
not  indeed  by  name,  but  by  a  literary  transaction,  was  for 
"laying  on,"  but  his  patron  interposed,  and  having  inquired 
and  heard  the  offence,  bellowed  with  laughter,  and  con- 
demned the  ex-pedlar  to  a  fine  of  half-a-crown  in  grog.  This 
softened  brutus,  and  a  harmonious  debauch  succeeded.  Like 
the  old  Egyptians,  they  debated  first  sober  and  then  drunk, 
and,  to  stagger  my  general  notion  that  the  ancients  were  un- 
wise, candour  compels  me  to  own  it  was  while  stammering, 
maudling,  stinking,  and  in  every  sense  drunk,  that  mephis- 
topheles drivelled  out  a  scheme  so  cunning  and  so  new  as 

527 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

threw  everybody  and  everything  into  the  shade.     It  was  car- 
ried by  hiccoughation. 

To  work  this  scheme  mephistopheles  required  a  beautiful 
large  new  tent;  the  serpentine  man  bought  it.  Money  to 
feed  the  gang ;  serpent  advanced  it. 

Robinson's  tent  was  about  thirty  yards  from  his  claim, 
which  its  one  opening  faced.  So  he  and  George  worked 
with  an  eye  ever  upon  their  tent.  At  night  two  men  of  Rob- 
inson's party  patrolled,  armed  to  the  teeth;  they  relieved 
guard  every  two  hours.  Captain  Robinson's  orders  to  these 
men,  if  they  saw  anybody  doing  anything  suspicious  after 
dark,  were  these, — "First  fire,  then  inquire."  This  general 
order  was  matter  of  publicity  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  round 
Robinson's  tent,  and  added  to  his  popularity  and  our  rascals' 
perplexities. 

These  orders  had  surely  the  double  merit  of  conciseness 
and  melody ;  well,  for  all  that  they  were  disgustingly  offen- 
sive to  one  true  friend  of  the  captain's,  viz.,  to  George  Field- 
ing. 

"What  is  all  the  gold  in  the  world  compared  with  a  man's 
life?"  said  he  indignantly. 

"An  ounce  of  it  is  worth  half-a-dozen  such  lives  as  some 
here,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

"I  have  heard  you  talk  very  different.  I  mind  when  you 
could  make  excuses  even  for  thieves  that  were  never  taught 
any  better,  poor  unfortunate  souls." 

"Did  I?"  said  the  captain,  a  little  taken  aback.  "Well, 
perhaps  I  did ;  it  was  natural,  hem !  under  the  circumstances. 
No !  not  for  such  thieves  as  these,  that  haven't  got  any  hon- 
our at  all." 

"Honour,  eh  ?" — "Yes,  honour.  Look  here :  suppose  in  my 
unconverted  days  I  had  broke  into  a  jeweller's  shop  (that 
comes  nearest  to  a  mine)  with  four  or  five  pals,  do  you  think 
I  should  have  held  it  lawful  to  rob  my  pals  of  any  part  of 
the  swag  just  because  we  happened  to  be  robbing  a  silver- 
smith? Certainly  not.  I  assure  you,  George,  the  punish- 
ment of  such  a  nasty  sneaking  dishonourable  act  would  be 
death  in  every  gang,  and  cheap  too.  Well,  we  have  broken 
into  Nature's  shop  here,  and  we  are  to  rifle  her,  and  not  turn 
to,  like  unnatural  monsters^  and  rob  our  ten  thousand  pals." 

528 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Thieving  is  thieving  in  my  view,"  was  the  prejudiced 
reply. 

"And  hanging  is  hanging,  as  all  thieves  shall  find  if  caught 
convenient !" 

"You  make  my  flesh  creep,  Tom.  I  liked  you  better  when 
you  were  not  so  great  a  man,  more  humble-like.  Have  you 
forgotten  when  you  had  to  make  excuses  for  yourself  ?  Then 
you  had  Susan  on  your  side  and  brought  me  round,  for  I  was 
bitter  against  theft,  but  never  so  bad  as  you  are  now." 

"Oh,  never  mind  what  I  said  in  those  days.  Why,  you 
must  be  well  aware  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  talking  about. 
I  had  been  a  rogue  and  a  fool,  and  I  talked  like  both ;  but 
now  I  am  a  man  of  property,  and  my  eyes  are  open  and  my 
conscience  revolts  against  theft,  and  the  gallows  is  the  finest 
institution  going,  and  next  to  that  comes  a  joUy  good  prison. 
I  wish  there  was  one  in  this  mine  as  big  as  Pentonville,  then 
property " 

Here  the  dialogue  was  closed  by  the  demand  the  pick  made 
upon  the  man  of  property's  breath.  But  it  rankled,  and  on 
laying  down  the  pick  he  burst  out,  "Well,  to  think  of  an 
honest  man  like  you  having  a  word  to  say  for  thieving! 
Why,  it  is  a  despicable  trait  in  a  gold-mine.  I'll  go  further, 
I'll  prove  it  is  the  sin  of  sins  all  round  the  world.  Stolen 
money  never  thrives — goes  for  drink  and  nonsense.  Now 
you  pick  and  I'll  wash.  Theft  corrupts  the  man  that  is 
robbed  as  well  as  the  thief,  drives  him  to  despair  and  drink 
and  ruin,  temporal  and  eternal.  No  country  could  stand 
half  an  hour  without  law ! !  The  very  honest  would  turn 
thieves  if  not  protected,  and  there  would  be  a  go.  Besides, 
this  great  crime  is  like  a  trunk  railway;  other  little  crimes 
run  into  it  and  out  of  it ;  lies  buzz  about  it  like  these  Austra- 
lian flies — drat  you !  Drunkenness  precedes  and  follows  it, 
and  perjury  rushes  to  its  defence." 

"Well,  Tom,  you  are  a  beautiful  speaker." 

"I  haven't  done  yet.  What  wonder  it  degrades  a  man 
when  a  dog  loses  his  dignity  under  it.  Behold  the  dog  who 
has  stolen ;  look  at  Carlo  yesterday  when  he  demeaned  him- 
self to  prig  Jem's  dinner  (the  sly  brute  won't  look  at  ours). 
How  mean  he  cut  with  his  tail  under  his  belly,  instead  of 
turning  out  to  meet  folk  all  jolly  and  waggle-um-tail-um  as 

529 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

on  other  occasions.  Hallo !  you,  sir !  what  are  you  doing  so 
near  our  tent?"  and  up  jumped  the  man  of  property  and  ran 
cocking  a  revolver  to  a  party  who  was  kneeling  close  to  the 
friends'  tent. 

The  man  looked  up  coolly ;  he  was  on  his  knees.  "We  are 
newly  arrived  and  just  going  to  pitch,  and  a  digger  told  us 
we  must  not  come  within  thirty  yards  of  the  captain's  tent,  so 
we  are  measuring  the  distance." 

"Well,  measure  it,  and  keep  it." 

Robinson  stayed  by  his  tent  till  the  man,  whose  face  was 
strange  to  him,  had  measured  and  marked  the  ground.  Soon 
after  the  tent  in  question  was  pitched,  and  it  looked  so  large 
and  new  that  the  man  of  property's  suspicions  were  lulled. 

'Tt  is  all  right,"  said  he;  "tent  is  worth  twenty  pounds  at 
the  lowest  farthing." 

While  Black  Will  and  his  gang  were  scheming  to  get  the 
friends'  gold,  Robinson,  though  conscious  only  of  his  general 
danger,  grew  more  and  more  nervous  as  the  bag  grew  heav- 
ier, and  strengthened  his  defence  every  day. 

This  very  day  one  was  added  to  the  cause  of  order  in  a 
very  characteristic  way.  I  must  first  observe  that  Mr. 
M'Laughlan  had  become  George's  bailiff,  that  is,  on  discov- 
ery of  the  gold  he  had  agreed  to  incorporate  George's  flocks, 
to  use  his  ground,  and  to  account  to  him,  sharing  the  profits 
and  George  running  the  risks.  George  had,  however,  en- 
cumbered the  property  with  Abner  as  herdsman :  that  worthy 
had  come  whining  to  him  lame  of  one  leg  from  a  blow  on  the 
head,  which  he  convinced  George  Jacky  had  given  him  with 
his  battle-axe. 

"I'm  spoiled  for  life,  and  by  your  savage.  I  have  lost  my 
place ;  do  something  for  me." 

Good-hearted  George  did  as  related,  and  moreover  prom- 
ised to  give  Jacky  a  hiding  if  ever  he  caught  him  again. 
George's  aversion  to  bloodshed  is  matter  of  history;  it  was 
also  his  creed  that  a  good  hiding  did  nobody  any  harm. 

Now  it  was  sheep-shearing  time,  and  M'Laughlan  was 
short  of  hands ;  he  came  into  the  mine  to  see  whether  out  of 
so  many  thousands  he  could  not  find  four  or  five  who  would 
shear  instead  of  digging. 

When  he  put  the  question  to  George,  George  shook  his 

530 


.m.. 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

head  doubtfully.  "However,"  said  he,  "look  out  for  some 
unlucky  ones ;  that  is  your  best  chance,  leastways  your  only 
one. 

So  M'Laughlan  went  cannily  about  listening  here  and 
there  to  the  men,  who  were  now  at  their  dinners,  and  he 
found  Ede's  gang  grumbling  and  growling  with  their  mouths 
full;  in  short,  enjoying  at  the  same  time  a  good  dinner  and 
an  Englishman's  grace. 

"This  will  do,"  thought  the  Scot,  misled  like  Continental 
nations  by  that  little  trait  of  ours ;  he  opened  the  ball. 

"I'm  saying,  my  lads,  will  ye  gie  ower  this  weary  wark  a 
•wee  whilie  and  shear  a  wheen  sheep  to  me?"  The  men  looked 
in  his  face,  then  at  one  another,  and  the  proposal  struck  them 
as  singularly  droll.     They  burst  out  laughing  in  his  face. 

M'Laughlan  (keeping  his  temper  thoroughly,  but  not 
without  a  severe  struggle),  "Oh,  fine  I  ken  I'll  hae  to  pay  a 
maist  deevelish  price  for  your  highnesses — a  well  I'se  pay — 
aw  thing  has  its  price;  jaast  name  your  wage  for  shearing 
five  hunder  sheep." 

The  men  whispered  together.  The  Scot  congratulated 
himself  on  his  success ;  it  would  be  a  question  of  price 
after  all. 

"We  will  do  it  for— the  wool." 

"Th'  'oo  ? — oo  ay !  but  hoo  muckle  o'  th'  'oo  ?  for  ve 
ken " 

"How  muckle?  why,  all." 

"A'  the  'oo !  ye  blackguard,  ye're  no  blate." 

"Keep  your  temper,  farmer ;  it  is  not  worth  our  while  to 
shear  sheep  for  less  than  that." 

"De'il  go  wi'  ye,  then !"  and  he  moved  off  in  great  dudgeon. 

"Stop,"  cried  the  captain,  "you  and  I  are  acquainted.  You 
lived  out  Wellington  way ;  me  and  another  wandered  to  your 
hut  one  day,  and  you  gave  us  our  supper." 

"Ay,  lad,  I  mind  o'  ye  the  noo !" 

"The  jolliest  supper  ever  I  had — a  haggis  you  called  it." 

"Ay  did  I,  my  fine  lad.  I  cooked  it  till  ye  mysel'.  Ye 
micht  help  me  for  ane." 

"I  will,"  said  Captain  Ede,  and  a  conference  took  place  in 
a  whisper  between  him  and  his  men. 

"It  is  a'  reicht  the  noo!"  thought  ^I'Laughlan. 

531 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"We  have  an  offer  to  make  to  you,"  said  Ede  respectfully. 

"Let  us  hear't." 

"Our  party  is  large;  we  want  a  cook  for  it,  and  we  offer 
you  the  place  in  return  for  past  kindness." 

"Me  a  cuik,  y'  impudent  vagabond !"  cried  the  Caledonian, 
red  as  a  turkey-cock,  and  if  a  look  could  have  crushed  a  party 
of  eight,  their  hole  had  been  their  grave. 

M'Laughlan  took  seven  ireful  steps — wide  ones — then  his 
hot  anger  assumed  a  cold  sardonic  form ;  he  returned,  and 
with  blighting  satire  speered  this  question  by  way  of  gratify- 
ing an  ironical  curiosity — "An  whaat  would  ye  ha'e  the 
cheek  t'  offer  a  M'Laughlan  to  cuik  till  ye,  you  that  kens  sae 
fine  the  price  o'  wark?" — "Thirty  shillings." 

"Thretty  shilling  the  week  for  a  M'Laughlan !" 

"The  week !"  cried  Ede,  "nonsense — thirty  shillings  a  day, 
of  course.  We  sell  work  for  gold,  sir,  and  we  give  gold 
for  it.  Look  here !"  and  he  suddenly  bared  a  sturdy  brown 
arm,  and  smacking  it  cried,  "that  is  dirt  where  you  come 
from,  but  it  is  gold  here." 

"Ye're  a  fine  lad,"  said  the  Scot  smoothly,  "and  ye've  a 
boenny  aerm,"  added  he,  looking  down  at  it,  "I'se  no  deny 
that.  I'm  thinking — I'll  just  come — and  cuik  till  ye  a  wee — 
for  auld  lang  syne — thretty  schelln  the  day — an  ye'll  buy 
the  flesh  o'  me.  I'll  sell  it  a  hantle  cheaper  than  thir  warldly- 
minded  fleshers." 

Bret,  he  came  to  be  shorn  and  remained  to  fleece.  He 
went  and  told  George  what  he  had  done.  "Hech !  hech !" 
whined  he,  "thir's  a  maist  awfu'  come  doon  for  the  M'Laugh- 
lans — but  wha  wadna  stuip  to  lift  gowd?" 

He  left  his  head-man,  a  countryman  of  his  own,  in  charge 
of  the  flocks,  and  tarried  in  the  mine.  He  gave  great  satis- 
faction, except  that  he  used  to  make  his  masters  wait  for  din- 
ner while  he  pronounced  a  thundering  long  benediction ;  but 
his  cookery  compensated  the  delay. 

Robinson  enrolled  him  in  his  police,  and  it  was  the  fashion 
openly  to  quiz  and  secretly  respect  him.  Robinson  also  made 
friends  with  the  women,  in  particular  with  one  Mary 
M'Dogherty,  wife  of  a  very  unsuccessful  digger.  Many  a 
pound  of  potatoes  Pat  and  she  had  from  the  captain,  and  this 
getting  wind,  secured  the  goodwill  of  the  Irish  boys. 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

GEORGE  was  very  home-sick. 
"Haven't  we  got  a  thousand  pounds  apiece  yet?" 

"Hush !  no !  not  quite ;  but  too  much  to  bawl  about." 

"And  we  never  shall  till  you  take  my  advice  and  trace  the 
gold  to  its  home  in  the  high  rocks.  Here  we  are  plodding 
for  dust,  and  one  good  nugget  would  make  us." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Robinson,  "the  moment  the  dry  weather 
goes,  you  shall  show  me  the  home  of  the  gold."  Poor 
George  and  his  nuggets  ! 

"That  is  a  bargain,"  said  George ;  "and  now  I  have  some- 
thing more  to  say.  Why  keep  so  much  gold  in  our  tent  ?  It 
makes  me  fret.     I  am  for  selling  some  of  it  to  Mr.  Levi." 

"What,  at  three  pounds  the  ounce?     Not  if  I  know  it." 

"Then  why  not  leave  it  with  him  to  keep?" 

"Because  it  is  safer  in  its  little  hole  in  our  tent.  What  do 
the  diggers  care  for  Mr.  Levi?  You  and  I  respect  him,  but 
I  am  the  man  they  swear  by.  No,  George,  Tom  Weasel 
isn't  caught  napping  twice  in  the  same  year.  Don't  you  see 
I've  been  working  this  four  months  past  to  make  my  tent 
safe,  and  I've  done  it.  It  is  watched  for  me  night  and  day, 
and  if  our  swag  was  in  the  Bank  of  England,  it  wouldn't  be 
safer  than  it  is.  Put  that  in  your  pipe.  Well,  Carlo,  what  is 
the  news  in  your  part?"  Carlo  came  running  up  to  George 
and  licked  his  face,  which  just  rose  above  the  hole. 

"What  is  it,  Carlo?"  asked  George  in  some  astonishment. 

"Ha !  ha !"  laughed  the  other,  "here  is  the  very  dog  come 
out  to  encourage  his  faint-hearted  master." 

"No !"  said  George,  "it  can't  be  that — he  means  some- 
thing,— be  quiet,  Carlo,  licking  me  all  to  pieces, — but  what 
it  is,  Heaven  only  knows.  Don't  you  encourage  him ;  he  has 
no  business  out  of  the  tent — go  back.  Carlo — go  into  kennel, 
sir,"  and  ofif  slunk  Carlo  back  into  the  tent,  of  which  he  was 
the  day-sentinel. 

"Tom,"  remarked  George  thoughtfully,  "I  believe  Carlo 
wanted  to  show  me  something ;  he  is  a  wonderful  wise  dog." 

"Nonsense !"  cried  Robinson  sharply,  "he  heard  you  at  the 
old  lay  grumbling,  and  came  to  say,  'Cheer  up,  old  fellow.' " 

533 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

While  Robinson  was  thus  quizzing  George,  a  tremendous 
noise  was  suddenly  heard  in  the  tent.  A  scufifle — a  fierce 
muffled  snarl — and  a  human  yell ;  with  a  cry  almost  as  loud 
the  men  bounded  out  of  their  hole,  and,  the  blood  running 
like  melting  ice  down  their  backs  with  apprehension,  burst 
into  the  tent ;  then  they  came  upon  a  sight  that  almost  drew 
the  eyes  out  of  their  heads. 

In  the  centre  of  the  tent,  not  six  inches  from  their  buried 
treasure,  was  the  head  of  a  man  emerging  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  and  cursing  and  yelling,  for  Carlo  had  seized 
his  head  by  the  nape  of  the  neck  and  bitten  it  so  deep,  that 
the  blood  literally  squirted,  and  was  stamping  and  going 
back  snarling  and  pulling  and  hauling  in  fierce  jerks  to 
extract  it  from  the  earth,  while  the  burly-headed  ruffian  it 
belonged  to,  cramped  by  his  situation  and  pounced  on  un- 
awares by  the  fiery  teeth,  was  striving  and  battling  to  get 
down  into  the  earth  again.  Spite  of  his  disadvantage,  such 
were  his  strength  and  despair  that  he  now  swung  the  dog 
backwards  and  forwards.  But  the  men  burst  in.  George 
seized  him  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  Tom  by  the  shoulder,  and 
with  Carlo's  help  wrenched  him  on  to  the  floor  of  the  tent, 
where  he  was  flung  on  his  back  with  Tom's  revolver  at  his 
temple,  and  Carlo  flew  round  and  round  barking  furiously, 
and  now  and  then  coming  flying  at  him ;  on  which  occasions 
he  was  always  warded  ofif  by  George's  strong  arm  and  passed 
devious,  his  teeth  clicking  together  like  machinery,  the  snap 
and  the  rush  being  all  one  design  that  must  succeed  or  fail 
together. 

Captain  Robinson  put  his  lips  to  his  whistle  and  the  tent 
was  full  of  his  friends  in  a  moment. 

"Get  me  a  bullock-rope."— "Ay !" 

"And  drive  a  stout  pole  into  the  ground." — "Ay !" 

In  less  than  five  minutes  brutus  was  tied  up  to  a  post  in 
the  sun  with  a  placard  on  his  breast  on  which  was  written 
in  enormous  letters — 

THIEF 

(and  underneath  in  smaller  letters — ) 

Caught  trying  to  shake  Captain  Robinson's  tent. 

First  offence. 

N.B. — To  be  hanged  next  time. 

534 


« 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Then  a  crier  was  sent  through  the  mine  to  invite  inspection 
of  brutus's  features,  and  ere  sunset  thousands  looked  into  his 
face,  and  when  he  tried  to  lower  it,  pulled  it  savagely  up. 

'T  shall  know  you  again,  my  lad,"  was  the  common  re- 
mark, "and  if  I  catch  you  too  near  my  tent,  rope  or  revolver, 
one  of  the  two." 

Captain  Robinson's  men  did  not  waste  five  minutes  with 
brutus.  They  tied  him  to  the  stake  and  dashed  into  their 
holes  to  make  up  lost  time,  but  Robinson  and  George  re- 
mained quiet  in  their  tent. 

"George,"  said  Tom  in  a  low  contrite  humble  voice,  "let  us 
return  thanks  to  Heaven,  for  vain  is  man's  skill."  And  they 
did. 

"George,"  said  Tom,  rising  from  his  knees,  "the  conceit  is 
taken  out  of  me  for  about  the  twentieth  time ;  I  felt  so  strong 
and  I  was  nobody.  The  danger  came  in  a  way  I  never 
dreamed,  and  when  it  had  come  we  were  saved  by  a  friend 
I  never  valued.     Give  a  paw,  Carlo."     Carlo  gave  a  paw. 

"He  has  been  a  good  friend  to  us  this  day,"  said  George. 
"I  see  it  all  now ;  he  must  have  heard  the  earth  move  and  did 
not  understand  it,  so  he  came  for  me,  and  when  you  would 
not  let  me  go  he  went  back,  and  says  he — T  dare  to  say  it  is  a 
rabbit  burrowing  up.'  So  he  waited  still  as  death  watching, 
and  nailed  six  feet  of  vermin  instead  of  bunny." 

Here  they  both  fell  to  caressing  Carlo,  who  jumped  and 
barked  and  finished  with  a  pretended  onslaught  on  the  cap- 
tain as  he  was  kneeling  looking  at  their  so  late  imperilled 
gold,  and  knocked  him  over  and  slobbered  his  face  when  he 
was  down.  Opinions  varied,  but  the  impression  was  he 
knew  he  had  been  a  clever  dog.  This  same  evening  Jem 
made  a  collar  for  him  on  which  was  written  "Policeman 
C." 

The  fine  new  tent  was  entered  and  found  deserted,  noth- 
ing there  but  an  enormous  mound  of  earth  that  came  out  of 
the  subterranean,  which  Robinson  got  a  light  and  inspected 
all  the  way  to  its  debouchure  in  his  own  tent.  As  he  re- 
turned holding  up  his  light  and  peering  about,  he  noticed 
something  glitter  at  the  top  of  the  arch ;  he  held  the  light 
close  to  it,  and  saw  a  speck  or  two  of  gold  sparkling  here 
and  there.     He  took  out  his  knife  and  scraped  the  roof  in 

535 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


1 


places,  and  brought  to  light  in  detached  pieces  a  layer  of 
gold  dust  about  the  substance  of  a  sheet  of  blotting  paper 
and  full  three  yards  wide;  it  crossed  the  subterranean  at 
right  angles,  dipping  apparently  about  an  inch  in  two  yards. 
The  conduct  of  brutus  and  co.  had  been  typical.  They  had 
been  so  bent  on  theft  that  they  were  blind  to  the  pocketsful 
of  honest,  safe,  easy  gold  they  rubbed  their  very  eyes  and 
their  thick  skulls  against  on  their  subterraneous  path  to 
danger  and  crime. 

Two  courses  occurred  to  Robinson ;  one  was  to  try  and 
monopolise  this  vein  of  gold,  the  other  to  take  his  share  of 
it,  and  make  the  rest  add  to  his  popularity  and  influence  in 
the  mine.  He  chose  the  latter,  for  the  bumptiousness  was 
chilled  in  him.  This  second  attack  on  his  tent  made  him 
tremble. 

"I  am  a  marked  man,"  said  he.  "Well,  if  I  have  enemies, 
the  more  need  to  get  friends  all  around  me." 

I  must  here  observe  that  many  men  failed  altogether  at 
the  gold-diggings,  and  returned  in  rags  and  tatters  to  the 
towns;  many  others  found  a  little,  enough  to  live  like  a 
gentleman  anywhere  else,  but  too  little  for  a  bare  existence 
in  a  place  where  an  egg  cost  a  shilling,  a  cabbage  a  shilling, 
and  baking  two  pounds  of  beef  one  shilling  and  sixpence, 
and  a  pair  of  mining  boots  eight  pounds,  and  a  frying-pan 
thirty  shillings,  and  so  on. 

Besides  the  hundreds  that  fell  by  diarrhcea,  their  hands 
clutching  in  vain  the  gold  that  could  not  follow  them,  many 
a  poor  fellow  died  of  a  broken  heart  and  hardships  suf- 
fered in  vain,  and  some,  long  unlucky  but  persevering,  sud- 
denly surprised  by  a  rich  find  of  gold,  fell  by  the  shock  of 
good  fortune,  went  raving  mad,  dazzled  by  the  gold,  and 
perished  miserably.  For  here  all  was  on  a  great  heroic  scale, 
starvation,  wealth,  industry,  crime,  retribution,  madness,  and 
disease. 

Now  the  good-natured  captain  had  his  eye  upon  four  un- 
lucky men  at  this  identical  moment. 

No.  I,  Mr.  Miles,  his  old  master,  who  having  run  through 
his  means,  had  come  to  the  diggings.  He  had  joined  a  gang 
of  five;  they  made  only  about  three  pounds  a  week  each, 
and  had  expelled  him,  alleging  that  his  work  was  not  quite 

536 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

up  to  their  mark.  He  was  left  without  a  mate,  and  earned  a 
precarious  livelihood  without  complaining,  for  he  was 
game,  but  Robinson's  quick  eye  and  ear  saw  his 
clothes  were  shabby,  and  that  he  had  given  up  his  ha! 
ha !  ha ! 

No.  2,  Jem,  whose  mate  had  run  away  and  robbed  him, 
and  he  was  left  solus  with  his  tools. 

No.  3,  Mr.  Stevens,  an  accomplished  scholar,  and  above 
all,  linguist,  broad  in  the  forehead  but  narrow  in  the  chest, 
who  had  been  successively  rejected  by  five  gangs,  and  was 
now  at  a  discount.  He  picked  up  a  few  shillings  by  inter- 
preting, but  it  was  a  suspicious  circumstance  that  he  often 
came  two  miles  from  his  end  of  the  camp  to  see  Robinson 
just  at  dinner-time.  Then  a  look  used  to  pass  between 
those  two  good-hearted  creatures,  and  Mr.  Stevens  was 
served  first  and  Carlo  docked  till  evening.  Titles  prevailed 
but  little  in  the  mine.  They  generally  addressed  the  males 
of  our  species  thus — "Hi !  man  !"  The  females  thus — "Hi ! 
woman !"  The  Spartans !  but  these  two  made  an  exception 
in  favour  of  this  reduced  scholar.  They  called  him  "Sir," 
and  felt  abashed  his  black  coat  should  be  so  rusty;  and 
they  gave  him  the  gristly  bits,  for  he  was  not  working,  but 
always  served  him  first. 

No.  4,  Unlucky  Jack,  a  digger.  This  man  really  seemed 
to  be  unlucky.  Gangs  would  find  the  stuff  on  four  sides  of 
him,  and  he  none;  his  last  party  had  dissolved,  owing  they 
said  to  his  ill-luck,  and  he  was  forlorn.  These  four  Robin- 
son convened,  with  the  help  of  Mary  M'Dogherty,  who  went 
for  Stevens,  and  made  them  a  little  speech,  telling  them  he 
had  seen  all  of  their  four  ill-lucks,  and  was  going  to  end 
that  with  one  blow.  He  then,  taking  the  direction  of  brutus's 
gold  vein,  marked  them  out  a  claim  full  forty  yards  off,  and 
himself  one  close  to  them ;  organised  them,  and  set  them 
working  in  high  spirits,  tremulous  expectation,  and  a  fer- 
vour of  gratitude  to  him,  and  kindly  feeling  towards  their 
unlucky  comrades. 

"You  won't  find  anything  for  six  feet,"  said  the  captain. 
"Meantime,  all  of  you  turn  to  and  tell  the  rest  how  you  were 
the  unluckiest  man  in  the  whole  mine — till  you  fell  in  with 
me —  he !  he !" 

537 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


And  the  captain  chuckled.  His  elastic  vanity  was  fast 
recovering  from  brutus,  and  his  spirits  rising. 

Towards  evening  he  collected  his  whole  faction,  got  on 
the  top  of  two  cradles,  made  a  speech,  thanked  them  for 
their  good-will,  and  told  them  he  had  now  an  opportunity  of 
making  them  a  return.  He  had  discovered  a  vein  of  gold 
which  he  could  have  kept  all  to  himself,  but  it  was  more  just 
and  more  generous  to  share  it  with  his  partisans. 

"Now,  pass  through  this  little  mine  one  at  a  time,"  said 
he,  "and  look  at  the  roof,  where  I  have  stuck  the  two  light- 
ed candles,  and  then  pass  on  quick  to  make  room  for  others." 

The  men  dived  one  after  another,  examined  the  roof,  and 
rushing  wildly  out  at  the  other  end  in  great  excitement,  ran 
and  marked  out  claims  on  both  sides  of  the  subterranean. 

But  with  all  their  greediness  and  eagerness,  they  left  ten 
feet  square  untouched  on  each  side  of  the  subterranean. 

"What  is  this  left  for?"— "That  is  left  for  the  clever  fel- 
low that  found  the  gold  after  a  thief  had  missed  it,"  cried 
one. 

"And  for  the  generous  fellow  that  parted  his  find,"  roared 
another  from  a  distance. 

Robinson   seemed  to  reflect. 

"No!  I  won't  spoil  the  meat  by  cutting  myself  the  fat- 
no!  I  am  a  digger,  but  not  only  a  digger,  I  aspire  to  the 
honour  of  being  a  captain  of  diggers;  my  claim  lies  out 
there." 

"Hurrah !  three  cheers  for  Captain  Robinson !" 

"Will  you  do  me  a  favour  in  return?" — "Hurrah!  won't 
we?" 

"I  am  going  to  petition  the  governor  to  send  us  out  police 
to  guard  our  tents." — "Hurrah  !" 

"And  even  beaks,  if  necessary  (doubtful  murmurs).  And 
above  all,  soldiers  to  take  our  gold  safe  down  to  Sydney." — 
"Hurrah !" 

"Where  we  can  sell  it  at  three  fifteen  the  ounce." 

"Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !" 

"Instead  of  giving  it  away  here  for  three  pounds,  and 
then  being  robbed.  If  you  will  all  sign,  Mr.  Stevens  and  I  will 
draw  up  the  petition ;  no  country  can  stand  without  law !" 

"Hurrah  for  Captain  Robinson,  the  digger's  friend." 

538 


1 


■IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

And  the  wild  fellows  jumped  out  of  the  holes,  and  four 
seized  the  digger's  friend,  and  they  chaired  him  in  their 
rough  way,  and  they  put  Carlo  into  a  cradle,  and  raised  him 
high,  and  chaired  him,  and  both  man  and  dog  were  right  glad 
to  get  safe  out  of  the  precarious  honour. 

The  proceedings  ended  by  brutus  being  loosed  and  set  be- 
tween two  long  lines  of  men  with  lumps  of  clay,  and  pelted 
and  knocked  down,  and  knocked  up  again,  and  driven — 
bruised,  battered,  and  bleeding — out  of  that  part  of  the  camp. 
He  found  his  way  to  a  little  dirty  tent  not  much  bigger  than 
a  badger's  hole,  crawled  in,  and  sunk  down  in  a  fainting 
state,  and  lay  on  his  back  stiff  and  fevered,  and  smarting 
soul  and  body  many  days. 

And  while  Robinson  was  exulting  in  his  skill,  his  good  for- 
tune, his  popularity,  his  swelling  bag,  and  the  constabulary 
force  he  was  collecting  and  heading,  this  tortured  ruffian, 
driven  to  utter  desperation  by  the  exposure  of  his  features 
to  all  the  camp  with  "Thief"  blazing  on  him,  lay  groaning 
stiff  and  sore,  but  lived  for  revenge. 

"Let  him  keep  his  gold;  I  don't  care  for  his  gold  now. 
I'll  have  his  blood !" 


CHAPTER   LXII. 

"T  WONDER  at  you  giving  away  the  claim  that  lay  close 
-■-  to  the  gold;  it  is  all  very  well  to  be  generous,  but  you 
forget  Susan." 

"Don't  you  be  silly,  George!  the  vein  dips,  and  those  that 
cut  down  on  it  where  it  is  horizontallish  will  get  a  little; 
we,  that  nick  it  nearly  verticallish,  will  get  three  times  as 
much  out  of  a  ten-foot  square  claim." 

"Well,  you  are  a  sharp  fellow,  to  be  sure ;  but  if  it  is  so, 
why  on  earth  did  you  make  a  favour  to  them  of  giving  them 
the  milk  and  taking  the  cream?"— "Policy,  George!  policy!" 


539 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

CHAPTER  LXIII. 

Sunday. 

TOM,  I  invite  you  to  a  walk." 
"Ay !  ay !    I'd  give  twenty  pounds  for  one ;  but  the 
swag  ?" 

"Leave  it  this  one  day  with  Mr.  Levi;  he  has  got  two 
young  men  always  armed  in  his  tent,  and  a  little  peevish 
dog,  and  gutta-percha  pipes  running  into  all  the  Jews'  tents 
that  are  at  his  back  like  chicks  after  the  old  hen." 

"Oh,  he  is  a  deep  one." 

"And  he  has  got  mouth-pieces  to  them,  and  so  he  could 
bring  thirty  men  upon  a  thief  in  less  than  half  a  minute." 

"Well,  then,  George,  a  walk  is  a  great  temptation  this 
beautiful  day." 

In  short,  by  eight  o'clock  the  gold  was  deposited,  and 
the  three  friends,  for  Policeman  C.  must  count  for  one, 
stepped  lustily  out  in  the  morning  air. 

It  was  the  month  of  January;  a  blazing-hot  day  was  be- 
ginning to  glow  through  the  freshness  of  morning;  the  sky 
was  one  cope  of  pure  blue,  and  the  southern  air  crept  slowly 
up,  its  wings  clogged  with  fragrance,  and  just  tuned  the 
trembling  leaves — no  more. 

"Is  not  this  pleasant,  Tom? — isn't  it  sweet?" 

"I  believe  you,  George !  and  what  a  shame  to  run  down 
such  a  country  as  this.  There,  they  come  home,  and  tell  you 
the  flowers  have  no  smell,  but  they  keep  dark  about  the 
trees  and  bushes  being  haystacks  of  flowers.  Snufif  the  air 
as  we  go,  it  is  a  thousand  English  gardens  in  one.  Look  at 
all  those  tea-scrubs,  each  with  a  thousand  blossoms  on  it 
as  sweet  as  honey,  and  the  golden  wattles  on  the  other  side, 
and  all  smelling  Hke  seven  o'clock;  after  which,  flowers  be 
hanged !" 

"Ah,  lad !  it  is  very  refreshing — and  it  is  Sunday,  and  we 
have  got  away  from  the  wicked  for  an  hour  or  two;  but  in 
England  there  would  be  a  little  white  church  out  yonder,  and 
a  spire  like  an  angel's  forefinger  pointing  from  the  grass 
to  heaven,  and  the  lads  in  their  clean  smock-frocks  like  snow, 
and  the  wenches  in  their  white  stockings  and  new  shawls, 

540 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

and  the  old  women  in  their  scarlet  cloaks  and  black  bon- 
nets, all  going  one  road,  and  a  tinkle-tinkle  from  the  belfry, 
that  would  turn  all  these  other  sounds  and  colours  and  sweet 
smells  holy  as  well  as  fair  on  the  Sabbath  morn.  Ah !  Eng- 
land !     Ah !" 

"You  will  see  her  again — no  need  to  sigh." 

"Oh,  I  was  not  thinking  of  her  in  particular  just 
then." 

"Of  who?"— "Susan!" 

"Prejudice  be  hanged!  this  is  a  lovely  land." 

"So  'tis,  Tom,  so  'tis.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  puts  me 
out  a  little  bit;  nothing  is  what  it  sets  up  for  here.  If  you 
see  a  ripe  pear  and  go  to  eat  it — it  is  a  lump  of  hard  wood. 
Next  comes  a  thing  the  very  sight  of  which  turns  your 
stomach — and  that  is  delicious,  a  loquot,  for  instance.  There, 
now,  look  at  that  magpie!  Well,  it  is  Australia — so  that 
magpie  is  a  crow,  and  not  a  magpie  at  all.  Everything  pre- 
tends to  be  some  old  friend  or  other  of  mine,  and  turns  out 
a  stranger.  Here  is  nothing  but  surprises  and  deceptions. 
The  flowers  make  a  point  of  not  smelling,  and  the  bushes 
that  nobody  expects  to  smell  or  wants  to  smell,  they  smell 
lovely." 

"What  does  it  matter  where  the  smell  comes  from,  so 
that  you  get  it?" 

"Why,  Tom,"  replied  George,  opening  his  eyes,  "it  makes 
all  the  difference.  I  like  to  smell  a  flower — flower  is  not 
complete  without  smell — but  I  don't  care  if  I  never  smell 
a  bush  till  I  die.  Then  the  birds  they  laugh  and  talk  like 
Christians ;  they  make  me  split  my  sides,  God  bless  their 
little  hearts;  but  they  won't  chirrup.  Oh,  dear,  no;  bless 
you,  they  leave  the  Christians  to  chirrup — they  hold  conver- 
sations and  giggle,  and  laugh  and  play  a  thing  like  a  fiddle. 
It  is  Australia !  where  everything  is  inside-out  and  topsy- 
turvy. The  animals  have  four  legs,  so  they  jump  on  two. 
Ten  foot  square  of  rock  lets  for  a  pound  a  month ;  ten  acres 
of  grass  for  a  shilling  a  year.  Roasted  at  Christmas,  shiver 
o'  cold  on  Midsummer-day.  The  lakes  are  grass,  and  the 
rivers  turn  their  backs  on  the  sea  and  run  into  the  heart  of 
the  land ;  and  the  men  would  stand  on  their  heads,  but  I 
have  taken  a  thought,  and  I've  found  out  why  they  don't." 

541 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Why?" — "Because,  if  they  did,  their  heads  would  point 
the  same  way  a  man's  head  points  in  England." 

Robinson  laughed,  and  told  George  he  admired  the  coun- 
try for  these  very  traits.  "Novelty  for  me  against  the  world. 
Who'd  come  twelve  thousand  miles  to  see  nothing  we 
couldn't  see  at  home?  Hang  the  same  old  story  always. 
Where  are  we  going,  George  ?" 

"Oh,  not  much  farther ;  only  about  twelve  miles  from  the 
camp." 

"Where  to?" 

"To  a  farmer  I  know.  I  am  going  to  show  you  a  lark, 
Tom,"  said  George,  and  his  eyes  beamed  benevolence  on  his 
comrade. 

Robinson  stopped  dead  short.  "George,"  said  he,  "no! 
don't  let  us.  I  would  rather  stay  at  home  and  read  my 
book.  You  can  go  into  temptation  and  come  out  pure :  I 
can't.  I  am  one  of  those  that,  if  I  go  into  a  puddle  up  to 
my  shoe,  I  must  splash  up  to  my  middle." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"Your  proposing  to  me  to  go  in  for  a  lark  on  the  Sab- 
bath-day?" 

"Why,  Tom,  am  I  the  man  to  tempt  you  to  do  evil?" 
asked  George,  hurt. 

"Why,  no !  but  for  all  that  you  proposed  a  lark." 

"Ay,  but  an  innocent  one,  one  more  likely  to  lift  your 
heart  on  high  than  to  give  you  ill  thoughts." 

"Well,  this  is  a  riddle,"  and  Robinson  was  intensely  puz- 
zled. 

"Carlo,"  cried  George  suddenly,  "come  here;  I  will  not 
have  you  hunting  and  tormenting  those  kangaroo-rats  to-day. 
Let  us  all  be  at  peace,  if  you  please.     Come  to  heel." 

The  friends  strode  briskly  on,  and  a  little  after  eleven 
o'clock  they  came  upon  a  small  squatter's  house  and  premises. 
"Here  we  are,"  cried  George,  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  in- 
nocent delight. 

The  house  was  thatched  and  whitewashed,  and  English 
was  written  on  it  and  on  every  foot  of  ground  round  it.  A 
furze  bush  had  been  planted  by  the  door.  Vertical  oak 
palings  were  the  fence,  with  a  five-barred  gate  in  the  middle 
of  them.    From  the  little  plantation  all  the  magnificent  trees 

542 


\ 


% 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

and  shrubs  of  Australia  had  been  excluded  with  amazing 
resolution  and  consistency,  and  oak  and  ash  reigned  safe 
from  over-towering  rivals.  They  passed  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  there  George's  countenance  fell  a  little,  for  on 
the  oval  grass-plot  and  gravel-walk  he  found  from  thirty 
to  forty  rough  fellows,  most  of  them  diggers. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  he,  on  reflection,  "we  could  not  expect 
to  have  it  all  to  ourselves,  and  indeed  it  would  be  a  sin  to 
wish  it,  you  know.  Now,  Tom,  come  this  way ;  here  it  is 
— here  it  is — there."  Tom  looked  up,  and  in  a  gigantic  cage 
was  a  light-brown  bird. 

lie  was  utterly  confounded.  "What,  is  it  this  we  came 
twelve  miles  to   see?" 

"Ay !  and  twice  twelve  wouldn't  have  been  much  to  me." 

"Well,  but  what  is  the  lark  vou  talk  of?" 

"This  is  it." 

"This?    This  is  a  bird." 

"Well,  and  isn't  a  lark  a  bird?" 

"Oh,  ay!  I  see!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Robinson's  merriment  was  interrupted  by  a  harsh  remon- 
strance from  several  of  the  diggers,  who  were  all  from  the 
other  end  of  the  camp. 

"Hold   your   cackle,"    cried    one ;    "he    is    going    to 

sing;"  and  the  whole  party  had  their  eyes  turned  with  ex- 
pectation towards  the  bird. 

Like  most  singers,  he  kept  them  waiting  a  bit.  But  at 
last,  just  at  noon,  when  the  mistress  of  the  house  had  war- 
ranted him  to  sing,  the  little  feathered  exile  began  as  it 
were  to  tune  his  pipes.  The  savage  men  gathered  round 
the  cage  that  moment,  and  amidst  a  dead  stillness  the  bird 
uttered  some  very  uncertain  chirps,  but  after  a  while  he 
seemed  to  revive  his  memories,  and  call  his  ancient  cadences 
back  to  him  one  by  one,  and  string  them  sotto  voce. 

And  then  the  same  sun  that  had  warmed  his  little  heart 
at  home  came  glowing  down  on  him  here,  and  he  gave  music 
back  for  it  more  and  more,  till  at  last,  amidst  breathless 
silence  and  glistening  eyes  of  the  rough  diggers  hanging  on 
his  voice,  out  burst  in  that  distant  land  his  English  song. 

It  swelled  his  little  throat  and  gushed  from  him  with 
thrilling  force  and  plenty,  and  every  time  he  checked  his 

543 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

song  to  think  of  its  theme,  the  green  meadows,  the  quiet 
stealing  streams,  the  clover  he  first  soared  from  and  the 
spring  he  sang  so  well,  a  loud  sigh  from  many  a  rough 
bosom,  many  a  wild  and  wicked  heart  told  how  tight  the 
listeners  had  held  their  breath  to  hear  him ;  and  when  he 
swelled  with  song  again,  and  poured  with  all  his  soul  the 
green  meadows,  the  quiet  brooks,  the  honey  clover,  and  the 
English  spring,  the  rugged  mouths  opened  and  so  stayed, 
and  the  shaggy  lips  trembled,  and  more  than  one  drop 
trickled  from  fierce  unbridled  hearts  down  bronzed  and 
rugged  cheeks.    Duke  domum! 

And  these  shaggy  men,  full  of  oaths  and  strife  and  cupid- 
ity, had  once  been  white  headed  boys,  and  had  strolled 
about  the  English  fields  with  little  sisters  and  little  brothers, 
and  seen  the  lark  rise,  and  heard  him  sing  this  very  song. 
The  little  playmates  lay  in  the  churchyard,  and  they  were 
full  of  oaths  and  drink  and  lusts  and  remorses,  but  no  note 
was  changed  in  this  immortal  song.  And  so  for  a  moment 
or  two  years  of  vice  rolled  away  like  a  dark  cloud  from  the 
memory,  and  the  past  shone  out  in  the  song-shine;  they 
came  back,  bright  as  the  immortal  notes  that  lighted  them, 
those  faded  pictures  and  those  fleeted  days ;  the  cottage,  the 
old  mother's  tears  when  he  left  her  without  one  grain  of 
sorrow ;  the  village  church  and  its  simple  chimes ;  the  clover 
field  hard  by  in  which  he  lay  and  gambolled,  while  the 
lark  praised  God  over-head ;  the  chubby  playmates  that  never 
grew  to  be  wicked,  the  sweet  hours  of  youth,  and  innocence, 
and  home ! 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

WHAT  will  you  take  for  him,  mistress  ?    I  will  give  you 
five  pounds  for  him." 
"No !  no !     I  won't  take  five  pounds  for  my  bird." 
"Of  course   she  won't,"  cried  another ;   "she  wouldn't  be 
such  a  flat.     Here,  missus,"  cried  he,  "I'll  give  you  that  for 
him,"  and  he  extended  a  brown  hand   with  at  least  thirty 
new  sovereigns  glittering  in  it. 

The   woman   trembled;   she  and   her   husband   were  just 

544 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

emerging  from  poverty  after  a  hard  fight.  "Oh,"  she  cried, 
"it  is  a  shame  to  tempt  a  poor  woman  with  so  much  gold. 
We  had  six  brought  over,  and  all  died  on  the  way  but  this 
one!"  and  she  threw  her  white  apron  over  her  head  not  to 
see  the  glittering  bribe. 

" you !  put  the  blunt  up  and  don't  tempt  the  woman," 

was  the  cry.  Another  added,  "Why,  you  fool,  it  wouldn't 
live  a  week  if  you  had  it,"  and  they  all  abused  the  merchant ; 
but  the  woman  turned  to  him  kindly  and  said,  "You  come 
to  me  every  Sunday  and  he  shall  sing  to  you.  You  will  get 
more  pleasure  from  him  so,"  said  she  sweetly,  "than  if  he 
was  always  by  you." 

"So  I  will,  old  girl,"  replied  the  rough  in  a  friendly  tone. 

George  stayed  till  the  lark  gave  up  singing  altogether,  and 
then  he  said,  "Now  I  am  off.  I  don't  want  to  hear  bad 
language  after  that :  let  us  take  the  lark's  chirp  home  to  bed 
with  us ;"  and  they  made  off :  and  true  it  was  the  pure  strains 
dwelt  upon  their  spirits,  and  refreshed  and  purified  these 
sojourners  in  a  godless  place.  Meeting  these  two  figures  on 
Sunday  afternoon  armed  each  with  a  double-barrelled  gun 
and  a  revolver,  you  would  never  have  guessed  what  gentle 
thoughts  possessed  them  wholly.  They  talked  less  than  they 
did  coming,  but  they  felt  so  quiet  and  happy. 

"The  pretty  bird,"  purred  George  (seeing  him  by  the  ear), 
"I  feel  after  him — ^there — as  if  I  had  just  come  out  o' 
church." 

"So  do  I,  George,  and  I  think  his  song  must  be  a  psalm,  if 
we  knew  all." 

"That  it  is,  for  Heaven  taught  him.  We  must  try  and  keep 
all  this  in  our  hearts  when  we  get  among  the  broken  bottles 
and  foul  language  and  gold."  says  George.  "How  sweet  it 
all  smells  !   sweeter  than  before." 

"That  is  because  it  is  afternoon." 

"Yes !  or  along  of  the  music ;  that  tune  was  a  breath  from 
home  that  makes  everything  please  me ;  now  this  is  the  first 
Sunday  that  has  looked  and  smelled  and  sounded  Sunday." 

"George,  it  is  hard  to  believe  the  world  is  wicked;  every- 
thing seems  good  and  gentle,  and  at  peace  with  heaven  and 
earth." 

A  jet  of  smoke  issued  from  the  bush,  followed  by  the  re- 

545 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

port  of  a  gun,  and  Carlo,  who  had  taken  advantage  of 
George's  reverie  to  slip  ahead,  gave  a  sharp  howl,  and  spun 
round  upon  all-fours. 

"The  scoundrels!"  shrieked  Robinson.  And  in  a  moment 
his  gun  was  at  his  shoulder,  and  he  fired  both  barrels  slap 
into  the  spot  whence  the  smoke  had  issued. 

Both  men  dashed  up  and  sprang  into  the  brush  revolver  in 
hand,  but  ere  they  could  reach  it  the  dastard  had  run  for 
it,  and  the  scrub  was  so  thick  pursuit  was  hopeless.  The 
men  returned  full  of  anxiety  for  Carlo.  The  dog  met  them, 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  but  at  sight  of  George  he  wagged 
his  tail,  and  came  to  him  arid  licked  George's  hand,  and 
walked  on  with  them,  licking  George's  hand  every  now  and 
then. 

"Look,  Tom,  he  is  as  sensible  as  a  Christian.  He 
knows  the  shot  was  meant  for  m(e,  though  they  didn't  hit 
him." 

By  this  time  the  men  had  got  out  of  the  wood  and  pur- 
sued their  road,  but  not  with  tranquil  hearts.  Sunday  ended 
with  the  noise  of  that  coward's  gun.  They  walked  on  hastily, 
guns  ready,  fingers  on  trigger — at  war.  Suddenly  Robinson 
looked  back  and  stopped,  and  drew  George's  attention  to 
Carlo.  He  was  standing  with  all  four  legs  wide  apart  like  a 
statue.  George  called  him;  he  came  directly,  and  was  for 
licking  George's  hand,  but  George  pulled  him  about  and 
examined  him  all  over. 

"I  wish  they  may  not  have  hurt  him  after  all,  the  butchers ; 
they  have  too.  See  here,  Tom,  here  is  one  streak  of  blood 
on  his  belly ;  nothing  to  hurt,  though,  I  do  hope.  Never 
mind,  Carlo,"  cried  George,  "it  is  only  a  single  shot,  by  what 
I  can  see ;  'tisn't  like  when  Will  put  the  whole  charge  into 
you  rabbit-shooting,  is  it,  Carlo  ?  No,  says  he ;  we  don't 
care  for  this,  do  we.  Carlo?"  cried  George,  rather  boister- 
ously. 

"Make  him  go  into  that  pool  there,"  said  Robinson,  "then 
he  won't  have  fever." 

"I  will ;  here — cess  !  cess  !"  He  threw  a  stone  into  the  pool 
of  water  that  lay  a  little  off  the  road,  and  Carlo  went  in 
after  it  without  hesitation,  though  not  with  his  usual  alacrity : 
after  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  recover  the  stone  he  swam 

546 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

out  lower  down,  and  came  back  to  the  men  and  wagged  his 
tail  slowly,  and  walked  behind  George.     They  went  on. 

"Tom,"  said  George  after  a  pause,  'T  don't  like  it." 

"Don't  like  what?" — "He  never  so  much  as  shook  himself." 

"What  of  that?   He  did  shake  himself,  I  should  say." 

"Not  as  should  be.  Who  ever  saw  a  dog  come  out  of  the 
water  and  not  shake  himself?  Carlo,  hie  Carlo!"  and  George 
threw  a  stone  along  the  ground,  after  which  Carlo  trotted; 
but  his  limbs  seemed  to  work  stiffly ;  the  stone  spun  round 
a  sharp  corner  in  the  road,  the  dog  followed  it. 

"He  will  do  now,"  said  Robinson. 

They  walked  briskly  on.  On  turning  the  corner,  they 
found  Carlo  sitting  up  and  shivering,  with  the  stone  between 
his  paws. 

"We  must  not  let  him  sit,"  said  Tom ;  "keep  his  blood 
Avarm.  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  have  sent  him  into  the 
water." 

"I  don't  know,"  muttered  George  gloomily.  "Carlo,"  cried 
he  cheerfully,  "don't  you  be  down-hearted;  there  is  nothing 
so  bad  as  faint-heartedness  for  man  or  beast.  Come,  up  and 
away  ye  go,  and  shake  it  ofif  like  a  man." 

Carlo  got  up  and  wagged  his  tail  in  answer,  but  he  evi- 
dently was  in  no  mood  for  running;  he  followed  languidly 
behind. 

"Let  us  get  home,"  said  Robinson ;  "there  is  an  old  pal  of 
mine  that  is  clever  about  dogs ;  he  will  cut  the  shot  out  if 
there  is  one  in  him,  and  give  him  some  physic." 

The  men  strode  on,  and  each,  to  hide  his  own  uneasiness, 
chatted  about  other  matters,  but  all  of  a  sudden  Robinson 
cried  out,  "Why,  where  is  the  dog?"  They  looked  back,  and 
there  was  Carlo  some  sixty  yards  in  the  rear,  but  he  was 
not  sitting  this  time,  he  was  lying  on  his  belly. 

"Oh,  this  is  a  bad  job,"  cried  George.  The  men  ran  up 
in  real  alarm.  Carlo  wagged  his  tail  as  soon  as  they  came 
near  him,  but  he  did  not  get  up. 

"Carlo,"  cried  George  despairingly,  "you  wouldn't  do  it, 
you  couldn't  think  to  do  it.  Oh,  my  dear  Carlo,  it  is  only 
making  up  your  mind  to  live.  Keep  up  your  heart,  old  fel- 
low ;  don't  go  to  leave  us  alone  among  these  villains.  My 
poor  dear  darling  dog !    Oh,  no  !  he  won't  live,  he  can't  live ; 

547 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

see   how   dull   his   poor   dear   eye  is   getting.     Oh !   Carlo ! 
Carlo !" 

At  the  sound  of  his  master's  voice  in  such  distress  Carlo 
whimpered,  and  then  he  began  to  stretch  his  limbs  out.  At 
the  sight  of  this  Robinson  cried  hastily,  "Rub  him,  George; 
we  did  wrong  to  send  him  into  the  water." 

George  rubbed  him  all  over.  After  rubbing  him  awhile  he 
said,  "Tom,  I  seem  to  feel  him  turning  to  dead  under  my 
hand." 

George's  hand  in  rubbing  Carlo  came  round  to  the  dog's 
shoulder,  then  Carlo  turned  his  head,  and  for  the  third  time 
began  to  lick  George's  hand.  George  let  him  lick  his  hand 
and  gave  up  rubbing  him,  for  where  was  the  use?  Carlo 
never  left  ofif  licking  his  hand,  but  feebly,  very  feebly,  more 
and  more  feebly. 

Presently,  even  while  he  was  licking  his  hand,  the  poor 
thing's  teeth  closed  slowly  on  his  loving  tongue,  and  then  he 
could  lick  the  beloved  hand  no  more.  Breath  fluttered  about 
his  body  a  little  while  longer;  but  in  truth  he  had  ceased  to 
live  when  he  could  no  longer  kiss  his  master's  hand.  And 
so  the  poor  single-hearted  soul  was  gone.  George  took  it  up 
tenderly  in  his  arms.  Robinson  made  an  effort  to  console 
him. 

"Don't  speak  to  me,  if  you  please,"  said  George  gently 
but  quickly.  He  carried  it  home  silently,  and  laid  it  silently 
down  in  a  corner  of  the  tent. 

Robinson  made  a  fire  and  put  some  steaks  on,  and  made 
George  slice  some  potatoes  to  keep  him  from  looking  always 
at  what  so  little  while  since  was  Carlo.  Then  they  sat  down 
silently  and  gloomily  to  dinner,  it  was  long  past  their  usual 
hour,  and  they  were  working-men.  Until  we  die  we  dine, 
come  what  may.  The  first  part  of  the  meal  passed  in  deep 
silence.  Then  Robinson  said  sadly,  "We  will  go  home, 
George.  I  fall  into  your  wishes  now.  Gold  can't  pay  for 
what  we  go  through  in  this  hellish  place." 

"Not  it,"  replied  George  quietly. 

"We  are  surrounded  by  enemies." 

"Seems  so,"  was  the  reply  in  a  very  languid  tone. 

"Labour  by  day  and  danger  by  night." 

"Ay!"  but  in  a  most  indifferent  tone. 

548 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   AIEND 

"And  no  Sabbath  for  us  two." 

"No!" 

'T'll  do  my  best  for  you,  and  when  we  have  five  hundred 
pounds  more,  you  shall  go  home  to  Susan." 

"Thank  you !  He  was  a  good  friend  to  us  that  lies  there 
under  my  coat;  he  used  to  lie  over  it,  and  then  who  dare 
touch  it." 

"No !  but  don't  give  way  to  that,  George.  Do  eat  a  bit ; 
it  will  do  you  good." 

"I  will,  Tom,  I  will.  Thank  you  kindly.  Ah !  now  I 
see  why  he  came  to  me  and  kept  licking  my  hand  so  the  mo- 
ment he  got  the  hurt.  He  had  more  sense  than  we  had ;  he 
knew  he  and  I  were  to  part  that  hour;  and  I  tormented  his 
last  minutes  sending  him  into  the  water  and  after  stones, 
when  the  poor  thing  wanted  to  be  bidding  me  good-bye  all 
the  while.  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !"  and  George  pushed  his 
scarce-tasted  dinner  from  him,  and  left  the  tent  hurriedly, 
his  eyes  thick  with  tears. 

Thus  ended  this  human  day  so  happily  begun  ;  and  thus 
the  poor  dog  paid  the  price  of  fidelity  this  Sunday  afternoon, 

Siste  viator  iter,  and  part  with  poor  Carlo,  for  whom  there 
are  now  no  more  little  passing  troubles,  no  more  little  simple 
joys.  His  duty  is  performed,  his  race  is  run :  peace  be  to 
him,  and  to  all  simple  and  devoted  hearts.  Ah  me !  how  rare 
they  are  among  men! 

"What  are  you  doing,  Tom,  if  you  please?" 

"Laying  down  a  gut-line  to  trip  them  up  when  they  get 
into  our  tent." 

"When?— who?" 

"Those  that  shot  Carlo." 

"They  won't  venture  near  me." 

"Won't  they?  What  was  the  dog  shot  for?  They  will 
come — and  come  to  their  death ;  to-night,  I  hope.  Let  them 
come!  you  will  hear  me  cry  'Carlo'  in  their  ears  as  I  put  my 
revolver  to  their  skulls  and  pull  the  trigger." 

George  said  nothing,  but  he  clenched  his  teeth.  After  a 
pause  he  muttered,  "We  should  pray  against  such  thoughts." 

Robinson  was  disappointed ;  no  attack  was  made ;  in  fact, 
even  if  such  a  thing    was  meditated,  the    captain's    friends 

549 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

watched  his  tent  night  and  day,  and  made  such  a  feat  a  fool- 
hardy enterprise,  full  of  danger  from  without  and  within. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  week  a  good  deal  of  rain  fell  and 
filled  many  of  the  claims,  and  caused  much  inaction  and  dis- 
tress among  the  diggers,  and  Robinson  guarded  the  tent, 
and  wrote  letters  and  studied  Australian  politics,  with  a  view 
to  being  shortly  a  member  of  congress  in  these  parts.  George 
had  his  wish  at  last,  and  cruised  about  looking  for  the  home 
of  the  gold.  George  recollected  to  have  seen  what  he  de- 
scribed as  a  river  of  quartz  sixty  feet  broad,  and  running  be- 
tween two  black  rocks.  It  ran  in  his  head  that  gold  in  masses 
was  there  locked  up,  for,  argued  he,  all  the  nuggets  of  any 
size  I  have  seen  were  more  than  half  quartz.  Robinson  had 
given  up  debating  the  point.  George  was  uneasy  and  out  of 
spirits  at  not  hearing  from  Susan  for  several  months,  and 
Robinson  was  for  indulging  him  in  everything. 

Poor  George !  he  could  not  even  find  his  river  of  quartz. 
And  when  he  used  to  come  home  day  after  day  empty-handed 
and  with  this  confession,  the  other's  lips  used  to  twitch  with 
the  hard  struggle  not  to  laugh  at  him ;  and  he  used  to  see  the 
struggle,  and  be  secretly  more  annoyed  than  if  he  had  been 
laughed  out  at. 

One  afternoon  Tom  Robinson,  internally  despising  the 
whole  thing,  and  perfectly  sure  in  his  own  mind  that  there 
was  no  river  of  quartz,  but  paternal  and  indulgent  to  his 
friend's  one  weakness,  said  to  him,  "I'll  tell  you  how  to  find 
this  river  of  quartz,  if  it  is  anywhere  except  in  your  own 
head." 

"I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you.     How?" 

"Jem  has  come  back  to  camp,  and  he  tells  me  that  Jacky 
is  encamped  with  a  lot  more  close  to  the  gully  he  is  working 
— it  was  on  the  other  side  the  bush  there — and  Jacky  in- 
quired very  kind  after  you." 

"The  little  viper !" 

"He  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  Jem  tells  me ;  and  says  he, 
'Me  come  and  see  George  a  good  deal  soon,'  says  he." 

"If  he  does,  George  will  tan  his  black  hide  for  him." 

"What  makes  you  hold  spite  so  long  against  poor  Jacky?" 

"He  is  a  little  sneaking  varmint." 

"He  knows  every  part  of  this  country,  and  he  would  show 

550 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

you  'the  home  of  the  gold,'  "  observed  Robinson,  restraining 
his  merriment  with  great  difficulty. 

This  cock  would  not  fight,  as  vulgar  wretches  say.  Jacky 
had  rather  mortified  George  by  deserting  him  upon  the  first 
discovery  of  gold.  "Dis  a  good  deal  stupid,"  was  that 
worthy's  remark  on  the  second  day.  "When  I  hunt,  tings 
run,  and  I  run  behind  and  catch  dem.  You  hunt — it  not  run 
— yet  you  not  catch  it  always.  Dat  a  good  deal  stupid.  Be- 
fore we  hunt  gold  you  do  many  tings,  now  do  one :  dat  a  good 
deal  stupid.  Before,  you  go  so  (erecting  a  forefinger)  ;  now 
you  always  so  (crooking  it).  Dat  too  stupid."  And  wath 
this — whirr !  my  lord  was  off  to  the  woods. 

On  the  head  of  this  came  Abner  limping  in,  and  told  how 
a  savage  had  been  seen  creeping  after  him  with  a  battle-axe, 
and  how  he  had  lain  insensible  for  days,  and  now,  was  lame 
for  life.  George  managed  to  forgive  Jacky's  unkind  desertion, 
but  for  creeping  after  Abner  and  "spoiling  him  for  life,"  to 
use  Abner's  phrase,  he  vowed  vengeance  on  that  black  hide 
and  heart. 

Now  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  Jacky  had  come  back  to  the 
camp  with  Jem,  and  would  have  marched  before  this  into 
George's  tent.  But  Robinson  knowing  how  angry  George 
was  with  him,  and  not  wishing  either  Jacky  to  be  licked  or 
George  to  be  tomahawked,  insisted  on  his  staying  with  Jem 
till  he  had  smoothed  down  his  friend's  indignation.  Soon 
after  this  dialogue  Robinson  slipped  out,  and  told  Jacky  to 
stay  with  Jem  and  keep  out  of  George's  way  for  a  day  or 
two.  And  now  the  sun  began  to  set  red  as  blood,  and  the 
place  to  sparkle  far  and  wide  with  the  fiery  rays  emitted  from 
a  hundred  thousand  bottles  that  lay  sown  broad  cast  over 
the  land ;  and  the  thunder  of  the  cradles  ceased,  and  the  ac- 
cordions came  out  all  over  five  miles  of  gold-mine.  Their 
gentler  strains  lasted  till  the  sun  left  the  sky;  then  just  at 
dusk  came  a  tremendous  discharge  of  musketry,  roaring,  rat- 
tling, and  re-echoing  among  the  rocks.  This  was  tens  of 
thousands  of  diggers  discharging  their  muskets  and  revol- 
vers previous  to  reloading  them  for  the  night ;  for  calm  as 
the  sun  had  set  to  the  music  of  accordions,  many  a  deadly 
weapon  they  knew  would  be  wanted  to  defend  life  and  gold 
ere  that  same  tranquil  sun  should  rise  again. 

551 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Thus  the  tired  army  slept ;  not  at  their  ease  like  other  arm- 
ies guarded  by  sentinels  and  pickets,  but  every  man  in  dan- 
ger every  night  and  every  hour  of  it.  Each  man  lay  in  his 
clothes  with  a  weapon  of  death  in  his  hand :  Robinson  with 
two,  a  revolver  and  a  cutlass  ground  like  a  razor.  Outside  it 
was  all  calm  and  peaceful.  No  boisterous  revelry — all 
seemed  to  sleep  innocent  and  calm  in  the  moonlight  after  the 
day  of  herculean  toil. 

Perhaps  if  any  one  eye  could  have  visited  the  whole  enor- 
mous camp,  the  children  of  theft  and  of  the  night  might  have 
been  seen  prowling  and  crawling  from  one  bit  of  shade  to 
another.  But  in  the  part  where  our  friends  lay  the  moon 
revealed  no  human  figures  but  Robinson's  patrol,  three  men 
who  with  a  dark  lantern  and  armed  to  the  teeth  went  their 
rounds  and  guarded  forty  tents — above  all,  the  captain's.  It 
was  at  his  tent  that  guard  was  relieved  every  two  hours.  So 
all  was  watched  the  live-long  night.  Two  pointed  rocks  con- 
nected at  the  base  faced  the  captain's  tent.  The  silver  rays 
struck  upon  their  foreheads  wet  with  the  vapours  of  night, 
and  made  them  like  frost  seen  through  phosphorus.  It  was 
startling.  The  soul  of  silver  seemed  to  be  sentinel  and  eye 
the  secret  gold  below.  And  now  a  sad,  a  miserable  sound 
grated  on  the  ear  of  night.  A  lugubrious  quail  doled  forth 
a  grating  dismal  note  at  long  but  measured  intervals,  offend- 
ing the  ear  and  depressing  the  heart.  This  was  the  only 
sound  Nature  afforded  for  hours.  The  neighbouring  bush, 
though  crammed  with  the  merriest  souls  that  ever  made 
feathers  vibrate  and  dance  with  song,  was  like  a  tomb  of 
black  marble ;  not  a  sound — only  this  little  raven  of  a  quail 
tolled  her  harsh  lugubrious  crake.  Those  whose  musical 
creed  is  Time  before  Sentiment  might  have  put  up  with  this 
night-bird ;  for  to  do  her  justice  she  was  a  perfect  timeist — 
one  crake  in  a  bar  the  live-long  night;  but  her  tune — ugh! 
She  was  the  mother  of  all  files  that  play  on  iron  throughout 
the  globe — Crake! — crake! — crake!  untuning  the  night. 

An  eye  of  red  light  suddenly  opened  in  the  silver  stream 
shows  three  men  standing  by  a  snowy  tent.  It  is  the  patrol 
waiting  to  be  relieved.  Three  more  figures  emerge  from  the 
distant  shade  and  join  them.  The  first  three  melt  into  the 
shade. — Crake ! 

552 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND  ' 

The  other  three  remain  and  mutter.  Now  they  start  on 
their  rounds. — "What  is  that?"  mutters  one. 

"I'll  go  and  see." — Click. 

"Well!" 

"Oh,  it  is  only  that  brown  donkey  that  cruises  about  here. 
She  will  break  her  neck  in  one  of  the  pits  some  day." 

"Not  she ;  she  is  not  such  an  ass." 

These  three  melted  into  the  night,  going  their  rounds ;  and 
now  nothing  is  left  in  sight  but  a  thousand  cones  of  snow,  and 
the  donkey  paddling  carefully  among  the  pits. — Craake ! 

Now  the  donkey  stands  a  moment  still  in  the  moonlight — 
now  he  paddles  slowly  away  and  disappears  on  the  dark  side 
of  the  captain's  tent.  What  is  he  doing?  He  stoops — he 
lies  down — he  takes  off  his  head  and  skin,  and  lays  them 
down.  It  is  a  man  !  He  draws  his  knife  and  puts  it  between 
his  teeth.  A  pistol  is  in  his  hand — he  crawls  on  his  stomach 
— the  tent  is  between  him  and  the  patrol.  His  hand  is  in- 
side the  tent — he  finds  the  opening  and  winds  like  a  serpent 
into  the  tent. — Craake  ! 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

BLACK  WILL  no  sooner  found  himself  inside  the  tent 
than  he  took  out  a  dark-lantern  and  opened  the  slide 
cautiously.  There  lay  in  one  corner  the  two  men  fast  asleep 
side  by  side.  Casting  the  glare  around,  he  saw  at  his  feet  a 
dog  with  a  chain  round  him.  It  startled  him  for  a  moment, 
but  only  for  a  moment.  He  knew  that  dog  was  dead,  meph- 
istopheles  had  told  him  within  an  hour  after  the  feat  was 
performed.  Close  to  his  very  hand  was  a  pair  of  miner's 
boots.  He  detached  them  from  the  canvas  and  passed  them 
out  of  the  tent ;  and  now  looking  closely  at  the  ground,  he  ob- 
served a  place  where  the  soil  seemed  loose.  His  eye  flashed 
with  triumph  at  this.  He  turned  up  the  openings  of  the  tent 
behind  him  to  make  his  retreat  clear  if  necessary.  He  made 
at  once  for  the  loose  soil,  and  the  moment  he  moved  forward 
Robinson's  gut-lines  twisted  his  feet  from  under  him.  He 
fell  headlong  in  the  middle,  and  half-a-dozen  little  bells  rang 
furiously  at  the  sleepers'  heads. 

553 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Up  jumped  Tom  and  George  weapons  in  hand,  but  not  be- 
fore Black  Will  had  wrenched  himself  clear  and  bodnded 
back  to  the  door.  At  the  door,  in  his  rage  at  being  baulked, 
he  turned  like  lightning  and  levelled  his  pistol  at  Robinson, 
who  was  coming  at  him  cutlass  in  hand.  The  ex-thief  drop- 
ped on  his  knees  and  made  a  furious  upward  cut  at  his  arm. 
At  one  and  the  same  moment  the  pistol  exploded  and  the  cut- 
lass struck  it  and  knocked  it  against  the  other  side  of  the  tent : 
the  bullet  passed  over  Robinson's  head.  Black  Will  gave  a 
yell  so  frightful  that  for  a  moment  it  paralysed  the  men,  and 
even  with  this  yell  he  burst  backward  through  the 
opening,  and  with  a  violent  wrench  of  his  left  hand  brought 
the  whole  tent  down  and  fled,  leaving  George  and  Robin- 
son struggling  in  the  canvas  like  cats  in  an  empty  flour- 
sack. 

The  baffled  burglar  had  fled  but  a  few  yards  when,  casting 
his  eye  back,  he  saw  their  helplessness.  Losing  danger  in 
hatred,  he  came  back,  not  now  to  rob,  but  murder,  his  left 
hand  lifted  high  and  gleaming  like  his  cruel  eye ;  as  he  pre- 
pared to  plunge  his  knife  through  the  canvas,  flash  bang!  flash 
bang!  bang!  came  three  pistol-shots  in  his  face  from  the  pa- 
trol, who  were  running  right  slap  at  him  not  thirty  yards  off, 
and  now  it  was  life  or  death.  He  turned  and  ran  for  his  life, 
the  patrol  blazing  and  banging  at  him.  Eighteen  shots  they 
fired  at  him,  one  after  another,  more  than  one  cut  his  clothes, 
one  went  clean  through  his  hat,  but  he  was  too  fleet,  he 
distanced' them ;  but  at  the  reports  diggers  peeped  out  of  dis- 
tant tents,  and  at  sight  of  him  running,  flash  bang  went  a 
pistol  at  him  from  every  tent  he  passed,  and  George  and 
Robinson,  who  had  struggled  out  into  the  night,  saw  the  red 
flashes  issue,  and  then  heard  the  loud  reports  bellow  and  re- 
echo as  he  dodged  about  down  the  line,  and  then  all  was 
still  and  calm  as  death  under  the  cold  pure  stars. — 
Craake ! 

They  put  up  their  tent  again.  The  patrol  came  panting 
back.  "He  has  got  off,  but  he  carried  some  of  our  lead  in 
him.  Go  to  bed,  captain;  we  w^on't  leave  your  tent  all 
night." 

Robinson  and  George  lay  down  again  thus  guarded.  The 
patrol  sat  by  the  tent :  two^  slept,  one  loaded  the  arms  again 

554 


I 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

and  watched.  In  a  few  minutes  the  friends  were  actually  fast 
asleep  again,  lying  silent  as  the  vast  camp  lay  beneath  the  sil- 
ver stars. — Craake ! 

And  now  it  was  cold,  much  colder  than  before,  darker  too ; 
no  moon  now,  only  the  silver  stars ;  it  makes  one  shiver. 
Nature  seemed  to  lie  stark  and  stiff  and  dead,  and  that  ac- 
cursed craake  her  dirge.  All  tended  to  shivering  and  gloom. 
Yet  a  great  event  approached. — Craake ! 

A  single  event,  a  thousand  times  weightier  to  the  world 
each  time  it  comes  than  if  with  one  fell  stroke  all  the  king- 
doms of  the  globe  became  republics,  and  all  the  republics  em- 
pires, so  to  remain  a  thousand  years.  An  event  a  hundred 
times  more  beautiful  than  any  other  thing  the  eye  can  hope 
to  see  while  in  the  flesh,  yet  it  regaled  the  other  senses  too 
and  blessed  the  universal  heart. 

Before  this  prodigious  event  came  its  little  heralds  sweep- 
ing across  the  face  of  night.  First  came  a  little  motion  of 
cold  air — it  was  dead  still  before ;  then  an  undefinable  fresh- 
ness ;  then  a  very  slight  but  rather  grateful  smell  from  the 
soil  of  the  conscious  earth.  Next  twittered  from  the  bush 
one  little  hesitating  chip. 

Craake!  went  the  lugubrious  quail,  pooh-poohing  the  sug- 
gestion. Then  somehow  rocks  and  forest  and  tents  seemed 
less  indistinct  in  shape ;  outlines  peeped  where  masses  had 
been. 

Jug!  jug!  went  a  bird  with  a  sweet  gurgle  in  his  deep 
throat.  Craake !  went  the  ill-omened  one  directly,  disputing 
the  last  inch  of  nature.  But  a  grey  thrush  took  up  the  bright- 
er view ;  otock  otock  tock  !  o  tuee  !  o  o  !  o  tuee  o  o !  o  chio  chee ! 
o  chio  chee !  sang  the  thrush  with  a  decision  as  well  as  a 
melody  that  seemed  to  say,  "Ah !  but  I  ami  sure  of  it ;  I  am 
sure,  I  am  sure,  wake  up,  joy !  joy !" 

From  that  moment  there  was  no  more  craake :  the  lugu- 
brious quail  shut  up  in  despair,  perhaps  in  disdain,^  and  out 
gurgled  another  jug!  jug!  jug!  as  sweet  a  chuckle  as  Nature's 
sweet  voice  ever  uttered  in  any  land  ;  and  with  that  a  mist  like 
a  white  sheet  came  to  light,  but  only  for  a  moment,  for  it 
dared  not  stay  to  be  inspected.  "I  know  who  is  coming,  I'm 
oflf,"  and  away  it  crept  off  close  to  the  ground — and  little 
*Like  anonymous  detraction  before  vox  populi. 

SS5 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

drops  of  dew  peeped  sparkling  in  the  frost-powdered  grass. 

"Yock !  yock  !  o  chio  faliera  po !  Otock  otock  tock !  o  chio 
chee!  o  chio  chee!" 

"Jug!  jug!  jug!  jug!" 

"Off  we  go!  off  we  go!" 

And  now  a  thin  red  streak  came  into  the  sky,  and  perfume 
burst  from  the  bushes,  and  the  woods  rang,  not  only  with 
songs,  some  shrill,  some  as  sweet  as  honey,  but  with  a  gro- 
tesque yet  beautiful  electric  merriment  of  birds  that  can  only 
be  heard  in  this  land  of  wonders.  Then  pen  can  give  but  a 
shadow  of  the  drollery  and  devilry  of  the  sweet  merry  rogues 
that  hailed  the  smiling  morn.  Ten  thousand  of  them,  each 
with  half-a-dozen  songs,  besides  chattering  and  talking  and 
imitating  the  fiddle,  the  fife,  and  the  trombone.  Niel  gow ! 
niel  gow !  niel  gow  1  whined  a  leatherhead.  Take  care  o'  my 
hat !  cries  a  thrush  in  a  soft  melancholy  voice ;  then  with 
frightful  harshness  and  severity,  Where  is  your  bacca-box  I 
your  box !  your  box !  then  before  any  one  could  answer,  in  a 
tone  that  said  devil  may  care  where  the  box  is  or  anything 
else,  gyroc  de  doc !  gyroc  de  doc !  roc  de  doc !  cheboc  cheboc ! 
Then  came  a  tremendous  cackle,  ending  with  an  obstreperous 
hoo!  hoo!  ha!  from  the  laughing- jackass,  who  had  caught 
sight  of  the  red  streak  in  the  sky,  harbinger,  like  himself,  of 
morn  ;  and  the  piping  crows  or  whistling  magpies,  modulating 
and  humming  and  chanting,  not  like  birds,  but  like  practised 
musicians  with  rich  barytone  voices,  and  the  next  moment 
creaking  just  for  all  the  world  like  Punch  or  barking  like  a 
pug-dog.  And  the  delicious  thrush  with  its  sweet  and  mel- 
low tune.  Nothing  in  an  English  wood  so  honey-sweet  as 
his  otock  otock  tock !  o  tuee  o  o !  o  tuee  o  o !  o  chio  chee !  o 
chio  chee ! 

But  the  leatherheads  beat  all.  Niel  gow !  niel  gow !  niel 
gow !  off  we  go !  off  we  go !  off  we  go !  followed  by  rapid  con- 
versations, the  words  unintelligible  but  perfectly  articulate, 
and  interspersed  with  the  oddest  chuckles,  plans  of  pleasure 
for  the  day  no  doubt.  Then  ri  tiddle  tiddle  tiddle  tiddle  tid- 
dle  tiddle  tiddle !  playing  a  thing  like  a  fiddle  with  wires : 
then  "off  we  go"  again,  and  bow !  wow  !  wow !  jug!  jug!  jug! 
jug!  jug!  and  the  whole  lot  in  exuberant  spirits,  such  ex- 
travagances of  drollerv,  such  rollicking  jollitv,  evidently  split- 

556 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ting  their  sides  with  fun,  and  not  able  to  contain  themselves 
for  it. 

Oh !  it  was  twelve  thousand  miles  above  the  monotonous 
and  scanty  strains  of  an  European  wood ;  and  when  the  rov- 
ing and  laughing,  and  harshly  demanding  bacca-boxes,  and 
then  as  good  as  telling  you  they  didn't  care  a  feather  for 
bacca-boxes  or  anything  else,  gyroc  de  doc !  cheboc  cheboc 
cheboc !  and  loudly  announcing  their  immediate  de- 
parture, and  perching  in  the  same  place  all  the  more; 
and  sweet  low  modulations  ending  in  putting  on  the  steam  and 
creaking  like  Punch,  and  then  almost  tumbling  ofif  the 
branches  with  laughing  at  the  general  accumulation  of  non- 
sense— when  all  this  drollery  and  devilry,  and  joy  and  absurd- 
ity were  at  their  maddest,  and  a  thousand  feathered  foun- 
tains bubbling  song  were  at  their  highest,  then  came  the  cause 
of  all  the  merry  hubbub — the  pinnacles  of  rock  glowed  bur- 
nished gold — Nature,  that  had  crept  from  gloom  to  pallor, 
burst  from  pallor  to  light  and  life  and  burning  colour — the 
great  sun's  forehead  came  with  one  gallant  stride  into  the 
sky — and  it  was  day !  . 

Out  shone  ten  thousand  tents  of  every  size,  and  hue,  and 
shape,  from  Isaac  Levi's  rood  of  white  canvas  down  to  sugar 
loaves,  and  even  to  miserable  roofs  built  on  the  bare  ground 
with  slips  of  bark,  under  which  unlucky  diggers  crept  at  night 
like  badgers — roofed  beds — no  more — the  stars  twinkling 
through  chinks  in  the  tester.  The  myriad  tents  were  clus- 
tered for  full  five  miles  on  each  side  of  the  river,  and  it  wound 
and  sparkled  in  and  out  at  various  distances,  and  shone  Hke 
a  mirror  in  the  .distant  background. 

At  the  first  ray  the  tents  disgorged  their  inmates,  and  the 
human  hive  began  to  hum ;  then  came  the  fight,  the  manoeu- 
vring, the  desperate  wrestle  with  Nature,  and  the  keen  fenc- 
ing with  their  fellows,  in  short  the  battle — to  which,  that 
no  thing  might  be  wanting,  out  burst  the  tremendous  artillery^ 
of  ten  thousand  cradles  louder  than  thunder,  and  roaring  and 
crashing    without    a   pause. 

The  base  of  the  two-peaked  rock  that  looked  so  silvery  in 
the  moon  is  now  seen  to  be  covered  with  manuscript  advertise- 
ments posted  on  it ;  we  can  only  read  two  or  three  as  we  run 
to  our  work : — 

557 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"IMMENSE     REDUCTION      IN      EGGS    ONLY    ONE    SHILLING 

EACH  ! ! !     Bevan's  store." 

"Go-ahead  library  and  registration  office  for  new 
CHUMS.     Tom  Long  in  the  dead-horse  gully." 

"If  this  meets  the  I  of  Tom  Bowles  he  will  ear  of 
is  pal  in  the  iron-bark  gully." 

"This  is  to  give  notice  that  whereas  my  wife  Eliza- 
beth Sutton  has  taken  to  drink  and  gone  off  with  my 
mate  Bob,  I  will  not  be  answerable  for  your  debts  nor 
hold  any  communication  with  you  in  future. 

"James  Sutton." 

A  young  Jew,  Nathan,  issued  from  Levi's  tent  with  a  rough 
table  and  two  or  three  pair  of  scales,  and  other  paraphernalia 
of  a  gold  assayer  and  merchant.  This  was  not  the  first  mine 
by  many  the  old  Jew  had  traded  in. 

His  first  customers  this  morning  were  George  and  Robinson. 

"Our  tent  was  attacked  last  night,  Mr.  Levi." 

"Again !  humph !" 

"Tom  thinks  he  has  got  enemies  in  the  camp." 

"Humph !  the  young  man  puts  himself  too  forward  not  to 
have  enemies." 

"Well,"  said  George  quickly,  "if  he  makes  bitter  enemies,  he 
makes  warm  friends." 

George  then  explained  that  his  nerve  and  Robinson's  were 
giving  way  under  the  repeated  attacks. 

"We  have  had  a  talk,  and  we  will  sell  the  best  part  of  our 
dust  to  you,  sir.  Give  him  the  best  price  you  can  afford  for 
Susan's  sake." 

And  away  went  George  to  look  for  his  quartz  river,  leav- 
ing the  ex-thief  to  make  the  bargain  and  receive  the  money. 

In  the  transaction  that  followed,  Mr.  Levi  did  not  appear 
to  great  advantage.  He  made  a  little  advance  on  the  three 
pounds  per  ounce  on  account  of  the  quantity,  but  he  would 
not  give  a  penny  above  three  guineas.  No!  business  was 
business ;  he  could  and  would  have  given  George  a  couple  of 
hundred  pounds  in  day  of  need,  but  in  buying  and  selling, 
the  habits  of  a  life  could  not  be  shaken  off.  Wherefore.  Rob- 
inson kept  back  eight  pounds  of  gold  dust  and  sold  him  the 
rest  for  notes  of  the  Svdney  Bank. 

558 


I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Tom  cheerfully,  "now  my  heart  is  light, 
what  we  have  got  we  can  carry  round  our  waists  now  by 
night  or  day.  Well,  friend,  what  do  you  want  poking  your 
nose  into  the  tent?"  Coming  out  suddenly,  he  had  run 
against  a  man  who  was  in  a  suspicious  attitude  at  the  en- 
trance. 

"No  offence,"  muttered  the  man,  "I  wanted  to  sell  a  little 
gold-dust." 

Levi  heard  what  Robinson  said,  and  came  quickly  out. 

He  seated  himself  behind  the  scales. 

"Where  is  your  gold?"  The  man  fumbled  and  brought 
out  about  an  ounce.  All  the  time  he  weighed  it  the  Jew's 
keen  eye  kept  glancing  into  his  face ;  he  lowered  his  eyes  and 
could  not  conceal  a  certain  uneasiness.  When  he  was  gone 
Levi  asked  Robinson  whether  he  knew  that  face. 

"No,"  said  Robinson,  "I  don't." 

Levi  called  Nathan  out. 

"Nathan,  look  at  that  man,  follow  him  cautiously,  and  tell 
me  where  we  have  seen  him ;  above  all,  know  him  again. 
Surely  that  is  the  face  of  an  enemy." 

Then  the  old  man  asked  himself  where  he  had  seen  such  an 
eye  and  brow  and  shambling  walk  as  that ;  and  he  fell  into  a 
brown  study  and  groped  among  many  years  for  the  clue. 

"What !  is  Erin-go-bragh  up  with  the  sun  for  once  ?"  cried 
Robinson  to  Mary  M'Dogherty,  who  passed  him  spade  on 
shoulder. 

"Sure  if  she  warn't  she'd  never  keep  up  with  Newgut,"  was 
the  instant  rejoinder. 

"Hem!  how  is  your  husband,  Alary?" — "Och,  captain,  it  is 
a  true  friend  ye  are  for  inquiring.  Then  it's  tied  in  a  knot  he 
is." 

"Mercy  on  us,  tied  in  a  knot?" 

"Tied  in  a  knot  intirely  wid  the  rheumatism — and  it's  tin 
days  I'm  working  for  him  and  the  childhre,  and  my  heart's 
broke  against  gravel  and  stone  intirely.  I  wish  it  was  pratees 
we  are  digging;  I'd  may  be  dig  up  a  dinner,  anyway." 

"There  is  no  difficulty ;  the  secret  is  to  look  in  the  right 
place." 

"Ay !  ay !  take  your  divairsion,  ye  sly  rogue !  I  wish  ye  had 
my  five  childhre." 

559 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Oh,  you  spiteful  cat!" 

"Well,  Ede,  come  to  sell  ?"— "A  little." 

"What  is  to  do  out  there?  seems  a  bit  of  a  crowd." 

"What,  haven't  you  heard?  It  is  your  friend  Jem!  he  has 
got  a  slice  of  luck,  bought  a  hole  of  a  stranger,  saw  the  stuff 
glitter,  so  offered  him  thirty  pounds ;  he  was  green  and 
snapped  at  it ;  and  if  Jem  didn't  wash  four  ounces  out  the  first 
cradleful,  I'm  a  Dutchman." 

"Well,  I'm  right  glad  of  that." 

A  young  digger  now  approached  respectfully.  "Police  re- 
port, captain." 

"Hand  it  here.  May  I  sit  at  your  table  a  minute,  Mr. 
Levi?"   Mr.  Levi  bowed  assent. 

"No  clue  to  the  parties  that  attacked  our  tent  last  night?" 

"None  at  present,  captain,  but  we  are  all  on  the  look-out. 
Some  of  us  will  be  sure  to  hear  of  something,  course  of  the 
day,  and  then  I'll  come  and  tell  you.  Will  you  read  the  re- 
port?    There  is  the  week's  summary  as  w^ell." 

"Of  course  I  will.  Mum !  mum !  'Less  violence  on  the 
whole  this  week;  more  petty  larceny.'  That  is  bad.  I'll  put 
it  down,  Mr.  Levi.  I  am  determined  to  put  it  down.  What 
an  infernal  row  the  cradles  make.  What  is  this?  'A  great 
flow  of  strangers  into  the  camp,  most  thought  to  be  honest, 
but  some  great  roughs ;  also  a  good  many  Yankees  and  Ger- 
mans come  in  at  the  south  side.'  What  is  this?  'A  thief 
lynched  yesterday.  Flung  head  foremost  into  a  hole,  and 
stuck  in  the  clay.  Not  expected  to  live  after  it.'  Go  it,  my 
boys !  Didn't  I  say  law  is  the  best  for  all  parties,  thieves  in- 
cluded ?  Leave  it,  Andrew.  I  will  examine  it  with  the  utmost 
minuteness." 

The  dog  used  fine  words  on  these  occasions,  that  he  might 
pass  for  a  pundit  with  his  clique,  and  being  now  alone,  he 
pored  over  his  police-sheet  as  solemn  and  stern  as  if  the  nation 
depended  on  his  investigations. 

A  short  explosion  of  laughter  from  Andrew  interrupted  this 
grave  occupation.  The  beak  looked  up  with  offended  dig- 
nity, and,  in  spite  of  a  mighty  effort,  fell  a-sniggering ;  for, 
following  Andrews's  eyes,  he  saw  two  gig-umbrellas  gliding 
erect  and  peaceful  side  by  side  among  the  pits. 

"What  on  earth  are  they?" — "Chinamen,  captain.       They 

560 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

are  too  lazy  to  dig.  They  go  about  all  day  looking  at  the 
heaps  and  poking  all  over  the  camp.  They  have  got  eyes  like 
hawks.  It  is  wonderful,  I  am  told,  what  they  contrive  to 
pick  up  first  and  last.  What  hats !  Why,  one  of  them  would 
roof  a  tent." 
"Hurroo!" 
"What  is  up  now?" 

"Hurroo!"  And  up  came  Mary  M'Dogherty,  dancing  and 
jumping  as  only  Irish  ever  jumped.  She  had  a  lump  of  dim 
metal  in  one  hand  and  a  glittering  mass  in  the  other.  She 
came  up  to  the  table  with  a  fantastic  spring,  and  spanged 
down  the  sparkling  mass  on  it,  bounding  back  one  step  like 
india-rubber,  even  as  she  struck  the  table. 

"There,  ould  gentleman,  what  will  ye  be  after  giving  me  for 
that?     Sure  the  luck  has  come  to  the  right  colleen  at  last." 

'T  deal  but  in  the  precious  metals  and  stones,"  replied  Isaac 
quietly. 

"Sure,  and  isn't  gould  a  precious  metal  ?" 
"Do  you  offer  me  this  for  gold?     This  is  not  even  a  metal. 
It  is  mica — yellow  mica." 

"Mikee?"  cried  Mary  ruefully,  with  an  inquiring  look. 
At  this  juncture  in  ran  George  hot  as  fire.     "There !"  cried 
he  triumphantly  to  Robinson,  "was  I  right  or  wrong?     What 
becomes  of  your  gold-dust?"  and  he  laid  a  nugget  as  big  as 
his  fist  on  the  table. 

"Ochone !"  cried  the  Irishwoman,  "they  all  have  the  luck 
barrin'  poor  Molly  M'Dougherty." 

The  mica  was  handled,  and  George  said  to  her  compassion- 
ately, "You  see,  my  poor  girl,  the  first  thing  you  should  do  is 
to  heft  it  in  your  hand.     Now,  see,  your  lump  is  not  heavv 

like " 

"Pyrites !"  said  Isaac  drily,  handing  George  back  his  lump. 
"No!  pyrites  is  heavier  than  mica,  and  gold  than  pyrites." 

"Mr.  Levi,  don't  go  to  tell  me  this  is  not  a  metal,"  remon- 
strated George  rather  sulkily,  "for  I  won't  have  it." 

"Nay,  it  is  a  metal,"  replied  Levi  calmly,  "and  a  very  use- 
ful metal,  but  not  of  the  precious  metals.     It  is  iron." 

"How  can  it  be  iron  when  it  is  yellow  ?  And  how  is  one  to 
know  iron  from  gold,  at  that  rate?" 

"Be  patient,  my  son,"  said  the  old  Jew  calmlv,  "and  learn. 
««  561 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Take  this  needle.  Here  is  a  scale  of  gold ;  take  it  up  on  the 
needle-point.  You  have  done  it.  Why?  Because  gold  is  a 
soft  metal.  Now  take  up  this  scale  from  your  pyrites." — "I 
can't." 

"No,  because  iron  is  a  hard  metal.  Here  is  another  child- 
ish test — a  bloodstone,  called  by  some  the  touchstone.  Rub 
the  pyrites  on  it.  It  colours  it  not — a  hard  metal.  Now  rub 
this  little  nugget  of  pure  gold  I  have  just  bought." 

"Ay !  this  stains  the  stone  yellow." 

"A  soft  metal.  Here  in  this  little  phial  is  muriatic  acid. 
Pour  a  drop  on  my  nugget.  The  metal  defies  it.  Now  pour 
on  your  pyrites.  See  how  it  smokes  and  perishes.  It  cannot 
resist  the  acid.  There  are  many  other  tests,  but  little  needed. 
No  metal,  no  earthly  substance  resembles  gold  in  the  least." 

"Not  to  a  Jew's  eye,"  whispered  Robinson. 

"And  much  I  marvel  that  any  man,  or  even  any  woman, 
who  has  been  in  a  gold-mine  and  seen  and  handled  virgin 
gold,  should  take  mica  (here  he  knocked  the  mica  clean  off 
the  table)  or  pyrites  (here  he  spanged  that  in  another  direc- 
tion), for  a  royal  metal." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,  Mary,"  began  Robinson  cheer- 
fully.    "Hallo !  she  is  crying.     Here  is  a  faint  heart." 

"Och !  captain  dear,  Pat  and  me  we  are  kilt  right  out  for 
want  of  luck.  Oh !  oh !  We  niver  found  but  one  gould,  and 
that  was  mikee.  We  can't  fall  upon  luck  of  any  sort,  good, 
bad,  or  indifferent ;  that  is  where  I'm  broke  and  spiled  and  kilt 
intirely.     Oh !  oh  !  oh  !" 

"Don't  cry.     You  have  chosen  a  bad  spot." 

"Captain  avick,  they  do  be  turning  it  up  like  carrots  on  both 
sides  of  huz.  And  I  dig  right  down  as  if  I'd  go  through  the 
world  back  to  dear  old  Ireland  again.  He !  he !  he !  oh  !  oh ! 
An'  I  do  be  praying  to  the  Virgin  at  every  stroke  of  the 
spade  I  do,  and  she  sends  us  no  gould  at  all  at  all,  barrin' 
mikee,  bad  cess  to't.     Oh !" 

"That  is  it.  You  are  on  two  wrong  tacks.  You  dig  per- 
pendicular and  pray  horizontal.  Now  you  should  dig  hori- 
zontal and  pray  perpendicular." 

"Och !  captain,  thim's  hard  words  for  poor  Molly  M'Dogh- 
erty  to  quarry  through." 

"What  is  that  in  your  hand?" 

S62 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Sure  it  is  an  illigant  lump  of  lead  I  found,"  replied  poor 
Mary ;  the  base  metal  rising  in  estimation  since  her  gold 
turned  out  dross.  "Ye  are  great  with  the  revolver,  captain," 
said  she,  coaxingly ;  "ye'll  be  afther  giving  me  the  laste  pinch 
in  life  of  the  rale  stuff  for  it?" 

Robinson  took  the  lump.  "Good  heavens !  what  a  weight," 
cried  he.  He  eyed  it  keenly.  "Come,  Mr.  Levi,"  cried  he, 
"here  is  a  find ;  be  generous.     She  is  unlucky." 

"I  shall  be  just,"  said  the  old  man  gravely.  He  weighed 
the  lump  and  made  a  calculation  on  paper,  then  handed  her 
forty  sovereigns. 

She  looked  at  them.  "Oh,  now,  it  is  mocking  me  ye  are, 
old  man;"  and  she  would  not  take  the  money.  On  this  he 
put  it  coolly  down  on  the  table. 

"What  is  it  at  all!"  asked  she  faintly. 

"Platinum,"  replied  Isaac  coldly. 

"And  a  magnificent  lump  of  it!"  cried  Robinson 
warmly. 

"Och,  captain!  och,  captain  dear!  what  is  plateenum  at  all, 
if  ye  plaze?" 

"It  is  not  like  your  mica,"  said  Isaac.  "See,  it  is  heavier 
than  gold,  and  far  more  precious  than  silver.  It  has  noble 
qualities.  It  resists  even  the  simple  acid  that  dissolves  gold. 
Fear  not  to  take  the  money.  I  give  you  but  your  metal's 
value,  minus  the  merchant's  just  profit.  Platinum  is  the 
queen  of  the  metals." 

"Och,  captain  avick !  och !  och !  come  here  till  I  ate  you !" 
And  she  flung  her  arm  round  Robinson's  neck,  and  bestowed 
a  little  furious  kiss  on  him.  Then  she  pranced  away,  then 
she  pranced  back.  "Platinum,  you  are  the  boy ;  y'are  the 
queen  of  the  mitals.  May  the  Lord  bless  you,  ould  gentle- 
man, and  the  Saints  bless  yon!  and  the  Virgin  Mary  bless 
You!"^  And  she  made  at  Isaac  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes  to 
kiss  him ;  but  he  waved  her  off  with  calm  repulsive  dignity. 
"Hurroo !"  And  the  child  of  Nature  bounded  into  the  air  like 
an  antelope,  and  frisked  three  times ;  then  she  made  another 
set  at  them.  "May  you  live  till  the  skirts  of  your  coat  knock 
your  brains  out,  the  pair  of  ye!  hurroo!"     Then  with  sudden 

^  These  imprecations  are  printed  on  the  ascending  scale,  by  way  of 
endeavour  to  show  how  the  speaker  delivered  them. 

563 


ll 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

demureness,  "An'  here's  wishing  you  all  sorts  of  luck,  good, 
bad,  an  indifferent,  my  darlins.  Plateenum  for  iver,  and 
gould  to  the  devil,"  cried  she  suddenly  with  a  sort  of  musical 
war-shout,  the  last  words  being  uttered  three  feet  high  in  air, 
and  accompanied  with  a  vague  kick,  utterly  impossible  in  that 
position  except  to  Irish,  and  intended,  it  is  supposed,  to  send 
the  obnoxious  metal  off  the  surface  of  the  globe  for  ever. 
And  away  she  danced. 

Breakfast  now !  and  all  the  cradles  stopped  at  once. 

"What  a  delightful  calm !"  said  Robinson ;  "now  I  can  study 
my  police-sheet  at  my  ease." 

This  morning,  as  he  happened  to  be  making  no  noise,  the 
noise  of  others  worried  him. 

"Mr.  Levi,  how  still  and  peaceful  they  are  when  their  time 
comes  to  grub.  'The  still  sow  sups  the  kail,'  as  we  used  to 
say  in  the  north ;  the  English  turn  the  proverb  differently, 
they  say,  'the  silent  hog '  " 

"Jabber!  jabber!  jabber! — aie!  aie!" 

"Hallo!  there's  a  scrimmage!  and  there  go  all  the  fools 
rushing  to  see  it.     I'll  go  too !" 

Alas !  poor  human  nature ;  the  row  was  this. 

The  peaceful  children  of  the  moon,  whom  last  we  saw  glid- 
ing side  by  side  vertical  and  seemingly  imperturbable,  had 
yielded  to  the  genius  loci,  and  were  engaged  in  bitter  combat, 
after  the  manner  of  their  nation.  The  gig-umbrellas  were  re- 
solved into  their  constituent  parts ;  the  umbrellas  proper,  or 
hats,  lay  on  the  ground — the  sticks  or  men  rolled  over  one 
another  scratching  and  biting.  Europe  wrenched  them 
asunder  with  much  pain,  and  held  them  back  by  their  tails 
grinning  horribly  at  each  other  and  their  long  claws  working 
unamiably. 

The  diggers  were  remonstrating;  their  morality  was 
shocked. 

"Is  that  the  way  to  fight?  What  are  fists  given  us  for,  ye 
varmint  ?" 

Robinson  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  general  sentiment. 
"I  must  do  a  bit  of  beak  here  I"  cried  he ;  "bring  those  two 
tom-cats  up  before  me !" 

The  proposal  was  received  with  acclamation.  A  high  seat 
was  made  for  the  self-constituted  beak,  and  Mr.  Stevens  was 

564 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO  MEND 

directed  to  make  the  Orientals  believe  that  he  was  the  lawful 
magistrate  of  the  mine. 

Mr.  Stevens,  entering  into  the  fun,  persuaded  the  Orient- 
als, who  were  now  gig-umbrellas  again,  that  Robinson  was 
the  mandarin  who  settled  property,  and  possessed,  among 
other  trifles,  the  power  of  life  or  death.  On  this  they  took 
off  their  slippers  before  him,  and  were  awestruck,  and  secret- 
ly wished  they  had  not  kicked  up  a  row,  still  more  that  they 
had  stayed  quiet  by  the  banks  of  the  Hoang-ho. 

Robinson  settled  himself,  demanded  a  pipe,  and  smoked 
calm  and  terrible,  while  his  myrmidons  kept  their  counten- 
ances as  well  as  they  could.  After  smoking  in  silence  awhile, 
he  demanded  of  the  Chinese,  "What  was  the  row  ?" 

1st  Chinaman. — Jabber!  jabber!  jabber! 

2}id  Chinaman. — Jabber!  jabber!  jabber! 

Both. — Jabber!  jabber!  jabber! 

"What  is  that?     Can't  they  speak  any  English  at  all?" 

"No!" 

"No  wonder  they  can't  conduct  themselves,  then !"  re- 
marked a  digger. 

The  judge  looked  him  into  the  earth  for  the  interruption. 

"You  get  the  story  from  them,  and  tell  it." 

After  a  conference,  Mr.  Stevens  came  forward. 

"It  is  about  a  nugget  of  gold,  which  is  claimed  by  both 
parties." 

Robinso)i. — Stop!  Bring  that  nugget  into  court;  that  is 
the  regular  course. 

Great  interest  began  to  be  excited,  and  all  their  necks  were 
craned  forward,  when  Mr.  Stevens  took  from  one  of  the 
Chinese  the  cause  of  so  sanguinary  a  disturbance,  and  placed 
it  on  the  judge's  table.  A  roar  of  laughter  followed — it  was 
between  a  pea  and  a  pin's  head  in  magnitude. 

Robinson. — You  know  this  is  shocking.  Asia,  I  am 
ashamed  of  you.  Silence  in  the  court !  Proceed  with  the 
evidence. 

Mr.  Stevens. — This  one  saw  the  gold  shining,  and  he  said 
to  the  other,  "Ah !" 

Robinson  (writing  his  notes). — Said — to — the  other — 
"Ah !"     Stop !  what  is  the  Chinese  for  "ah"  ? 

Stevens.— "Ah !" 

565 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Robinson. — Oh! 

Andrew. — Come  !  the  beggars  have  got  hold  of  some  of  our 
words ! 

Robinson. — Silence  in  the  court ! 

Andrew. — I  ask  pardon,  captain. 

Stevens. — But  the  other  pounced  on  it  first,  so  they  both 
claim  it. 

Robinson. — Well !  I  call  it  a  plain  case. 

Stevens. — So  I  told  them. 

Robinson. — Exactly !  Which  do  you  think  ought  to  have 
it? 

Stevens. — Why,  I  told  them  we  have  a  proverb — "Losers 
seekers,  finders  keepers." 

Robinson. — Of  course;  and  which  was  the  finder? 

Stevens. — Oh,  of  course  this  one  that — hum ! — Well,  to  be 
sure,  he  only  said  "ah" — he  did  not  point.  Then  perhaps — 
but  on  the  other  hand — hum ! 

Robinson. — Why,  don't  you  see  ?  but  no ! — yes !  why  it  must 
be  the  one  that — ugh !  Drat  you  both !  why  couldn't  one  of 
you  find  it,  and  the  other  another  ? 

Robinson  was  puzzled.  At  last  he  determined  that  this  his 
first  judgment  should  satisfy  both  parties. 

"Remove  the  prisoners,"  said  he.  "Are  they  the  prison- 
ers or  the  witness?  Remove  them  any  way,  and  keep  them 
apart." 

Robinson  then  searched  his  pockets,  and  produced  a  little 
gold  swan-shot  scarce  distinguishable  from  the  Chinese.  He 
put  this  on  the  table,  and  took  up  the  other,  J 

"Fetch  in  No.  i !"  " 

The  Chinaman  came  in  with  obeisances  and  misgivings  ;  but 
when  the  judge  signed  to  him  to  take  up  the  gold,  which  he 
mistook  for  the  cause  of  the  quarrel,  his  face  lightened  with 
a  sacred  joy.  He  receded,  and  with  a  polite  gesture  cleared 
a  space ;  then  advancing  one  foot  with  large  and  lofty  grace, 
he  addressed  the  judge,  whose  mouth  began  to  open  with 
astonishment,  in  slow-balanced  and  musical  sentences.  This 
done,  he  retired  with  three  flowing  salaams,  to  which  the 
judge  replied  with  three  little  nods. 

"What  on  earth  did  the  beggar  say?  What  makes  you 
grin,  Mr.  Stevens?" 

S66 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Stevens. — He  said — click  ! 

Robinson. — Come!  tell  me  first,  laugh  after! 

Stevens. — He  said,  "May  your  highness  flourish  like  a  tree 
by  the  side  of  a  stream  that  never  overflows,  yet  is  never  dry, 
but  glides  — (click!) — even  and  tranquil  as  the  tide  of  your 
prosperity " 

Robinson. — Well,  I  consent ! 

Stevens. — "May  dogs  defile  the  graves  of  your  ene- 
mies ! 

Robinson. — With  all  my  heart !  provided  I'm  not  dancing 
over  them  at  the  time. 

Stevens. — "When  satiated  with  earthly  felicity,  may  you  be 
received  in  paradise  by  seventy  dark-eyed  houris " 

Robinson. — Oh  !  my  eye  ! 

Stevens. — Click!  "Each  bearing  in  her  hand  the  wine  of 
the  faithful,  and  may  the  applause  of  the  good  at  your  de- 
parture resemble  the  waves  of  the  ocean  beating  musically 
upon  rocky  caverns.  Thy  servant,  inexperienced  in  oratory, 
retires  abashed  at  the  greatness  of  his  subject  and  the  insig- 
nificance of  his  expressions."     So  then  he  cut  his  stick ! 

Robiiuon. — A  very  sensible  speech!  Well,  boys,  I'm  not 
greedy;  I  take  the  half  of  that  offer,  and  give  you  the  rest. 
Bring  in  the  other  gentleman ! 

No.  2  advanced  with  reverences  and  misgivings.  Robin- 
son placed  the  gold  on  the  table  and  assigned  it  to  him.  A 
sacred  joy  illumined  him,  and  he  was  about  to  retire  with  deep 
obeisances. 

"Where  is  his  speech  ?"  cried  the  judge  ruefully. 

Stevens  explained  to  him  that  the  other  had  returned 
thanks.  On  this  No.  2  smiled  assentingly,  and  advancing,  de- 
livered the  following  sentences — 

"Your  slave  lay  writhing  in  adversity,  despoiled  by  the  un- 
principled. He  was  a  gourd  withered  by  the  noonday  sun  un- 
til your  virtues  descended  like  the  dew,  and  refreshed  him 
with  your  justice  and  benignity.  Wherefore  hear  now  the 
benediction  of  him  whom  your  clemency  has  raised  from  de- 
spair. May  your  shadow  increase  and  cover  many  lands. 
May  your  offspring  be  a  nation  dwelling  in  palaces  with  gold- 
en roofs  and  walls  of  ivory,  and  on  the  terraces  mav  pea- 
cocks be  as  plentiful  as  sparrows  are  to  the  undeserving.  May 

^6y 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

you  live  many  centuries  shining  as  you  now  shine ;  and  at 
your  setting  may  rivulets  of  ink  dug  by  the  pens  of  poets  flow 
through  meadows  of  paper  in  praise  of  the  virtues  that  em- 
bellished you  here  on  earth.  Sing-tu-Che,  a  person  of  small 
note  but  devoted  to  your  service,  wishes  these  frivolous  ad- 
vantages to  the  Pearl  of  the  West,  on  whom  be  honour." 

Chorus  of  diggers — "My  eye !" 

Robinson  rose  with  much  gravity  and  delivered  himself 
thus — "Sing-tu-Che,  you  are  a  trump,  an  orator,  and  a  hum- 
bug. All  thfe  better  for  you.  May  felicity  attend  you. 
Hcichster  gnchstcr — honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pensc — donner  und 
hlitsen — tempora  mutantur — 0  inia  cara  and  pax  vohiscum. 
The  court  is  dissolved." 

It  was,  and  I  regret  to  add  that  Judge  Robinson's  conclud- 
ing sentences  raised  him  greatly  in  the  opinion  of  the  miners. 

"Captain  knows  a  thing  or  two." 

"If  ever  we  send  one  to  parliament,  that  is  the  man." 

"Hallo!  you  fellows,  come  here!  come  here!" 

A  rush  was  made  towards  Jem,  who  was  roaring  and  ges- 
ticulating at  Mr.  Levi's  table.  When  they  came  up,  they 
found  Jem  black  and  white  with  rage,  and  Mr,  Levi  seated  in 
calm  indifference. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Robinson. 

"The  merchant  refuses  my  gold." 

"I  refuse  no  man's  gold,"  objected  Levi  coolly,  "but  this 
stufT  is  not  gold." 

"Not  gold-dust,"  cried  a  miner,  and  they  all  looked  with 
wonder  at  the  rejected  merchandise. 

Mr.  Levi  took  the  dust  and  poured  it  out  from  one  hand 
to  the  other;  he  separated  the  particles  and  named  them  by 
some  mighty  instinct. 

"Brass — ormolu — gilt  platinum  to  give  it  weight;  this  is 
from  Birmingham,  not  from  AustraHa  nor  Nature." 

"Such  as  it  is,  it  cost  me  thirty  pounds,"  cried  Jem.  "Keep 
it.  I  shall  find  him.  My  spade  shall  never  go  into  the  earth 
again  till  I'm  quits  with  this  one." 

"That  is  right,"  roared  the  men,  "bring  him  to  us,  and  the 
captain  shall  sit  in  judgment  again."  and  the  men's  counten- 
ances were  gloomy,  for  this  was  a  new  roguery  and  stuck  at 
the  very  root  of  gold-digging. 

^568 


I 


jSi? 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"I'll  put  it  down,  Mr.  Levi,"  said  Robinson,  after  the  others 
had  gone  to  their  work;  "here  is  a  new  dodge;  Brummagen 
planted  on  us  so  far  from  home.  I  will  pull  it  down  with  a 
ten-penny  cord,  but  I'll  end  it." 

Crash !  went  ten  thousand  cradles ;  the  mine  had  break- 
fasted. I  wish  I  could  give  the  European  reader  an  idea  of 
the  magnitude  of  this  sound,  whose  cause  was  so  humble.  I 
must  draw  on  Nature  for  a  comparison : — 

Did  you  ever  stand  upon  a  rocky  shore  at  evening  when  a 
great  storm  has  suddenly  gone  down,  leaving  the  waves  about 
as  high  as  they  were  while  it  raged  ?  Then  there  is  no  roar- 
ing wind  to  dull  the  clamour  of  the  tremendous  sea  as  it 
lashes  the  long  re-bellowing  shore.  Such  was  the  sound  of 
ten  thousand  cradles ;  yet  the  sound  of  each  one  was  insig- 
nificant. Hence  an  observation  and  a  reflection — the  latter  I 
dedicate  to  the  lovers  of  antiquity — that  multiplying  sound 
magnifies  it  in  a  way  science  has  not  yet  accounted  for ;  and 
though  men  are  all  dwarfs,  Napoleon  included,  man  is  a 
giant. 

The  works  of  man  are  so  prodigious,  they  contradict  all  we 
see  of  any  individual's  powers ;  and  even  so  when  you  had 
seen  and  heard  one  man  rock  one  cradle,  it  was  all  the  harder 
to  believe  that  a  few  thousand  of  them  could  rival  thunder, 
avalanches,  and  the  angry  sea  lashing  the  long  re-echoing 
shore  at  night.  These  miserable  wooden  cradles  lost  their 
real  character  when  combined  in  one  mighty  human  eflfort ;  it 
seemed  as  if  giant  labour  had  stretched  forth  an  arm  huge 
as  an  arm  of  the  sea  and  rocked  the  enormous  engine,  whose 
sides  were  these  great  primeval  rocks  and  its  mouth  a  thun- 
dering sea. 

Crash !  from  meal  to  meal !  The  more  was  Robinson  sur- 
prised when  full  an  hour  before  dinner-time  this  mighty  noise 
all  of  a  sudden  became  feebler  and  feebler,  and  presently  hu- 
man cries  of  a  strange  character  made  their  way  to  his  ear 
through  the  wooden  thunder. 

"What  on  earth  is  up  now?"  thought  he;  "an  earthquake?" 

Presently  he  saw  at  about  half  a  mile  off  a  vast  crowd  of 
miners  making  toward  him  in  tremendous  excitement.  They 
came  on,  swelled  every  moment  by  fresh  faces,  and  cries  of 
vengeance  and  excitement  were  now  heard,  which  the  wild 

.     569 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

and  savage  aspect  of  the  men  rendered  truly  terrible.  At  last 
he  saw  and  and  comprehended  all  at  a  glance. 

There  were  Jem  and  two  others  dragging  a  man  along 
whose  white  face  and  knocking  knees  betrayed  his  guilt  and 
his  terror.  Robinson  knew  him  directly,  it  was  Walker,  who 
had  been  the  decoy-duck  the  night  his  tent  was  robbed. 

"Here  is  the  captain!  Hurrah!  I've  got  him,  captain. 
This  is  the  beggar  that  peppered  the  hole  for  me,  and  now  we 
will  pepper  him !" 

A  fierce  burst  of  exultation  from  the  crowd.  They  thirsted 
for  revenge.  Jem  had  caught  the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the 
camp,  and  his  offence  was  known  by  this  time  to  half  the  mine* 

"Proceed  regularly,  Jem,"  said  Robinson.  "Don't  con- 
demn the  man  unheard." 

"Oh,  no !     He  shall  be  tried,  and  you  shall  be  the  judge." 

"I  consent,"  said  Robinson  somewhat  pompously. 

Then  arose  a  cry  that  made  him  reflect :  "Lynch !  Lynch ! 
a  seat  for  Judge  Lynch!"  and  in  a  moment  a  judgment-seat 
was  built  with  cradles,  and  he  was  set  on  high,  with  six 
strange  faces  scowling  round  him  for  one  of  his  own  clique. 
He  determined  to  back  out  of  the  whole  thing. 

"No!  no!"  cried  he;  "that  is  impossible.  I  cannot  be  a 
judge  is  such  a  serious  matter." 

"Why  not!"  roared  several  voices. 

"Why  not?  Because  I  am  not  a  regular  beak;  because  I 
have  not  got  authority  from  the  Crown."  There  was  a  howl 
of  derision. 

"We  give  you  authority !" 

"We  order  you  to  be  judge!" 

"We  are  King,  Lords,  and  Commons!" 

"Do  what  we  bid  you,  or,"  said  a  stranger,  "we  will  hang 
you  and  the  prisoner  with  one  rope!" 

Grim  assent  of  the  surrounding  faces — Robinson  sat  down 
on  the  judgment-seat  not  a  little  discomposed. 

"Now  then,"  remonstrated  one,  "what  are  you  waiting  for? 
Name  the  jury." 

"Me!" "Me!" — "Me!" — "I!" — 'T  !"  and  there  was  a  rush 

for  the  ofifice. 

"Keep  cool."  replied  another.  "Lynch  law  goes  quick,  but 
it  goes  by  rule.     Judge,  name  the  jury," 

5/0 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Robinson,  a  man  whose  wits  seldom  deserted  him,  at  once 
determined  to  lead  since  he  could  not  resist.  He  said  with 
dignity,  "I  shall  chose  one  juryman  from  each  of  the  differ- 
ent countries  that  are  working  in  this  mine,  that  no  nation 
may  seem  to  be  slighted,  for  this  gold  belongs  to  all  the 
world." 

"Hurrah!  Well  done,  judge.  Three  cheers  for  Judge 
Lynch !" 

"When  I  call  a  country,  give  me  a  name,  which  I  will  in- 
scribe on  my  report  of  the  proceedings.  I  want  a  currency 
lad  first." 

"Here  is  one.     William  Parker." 

"Pass  over.     France." 

"Present.     Pierre  Chanot." 

"Germany." 

"Here.     Hans  Miiller." 

"Holland." 

"Here.     Jan  Van  der  Stegen." 

Spain  and  Italy  were  called,  but  no  reply.  "Asleep,  I  take  it." 

"United  States." 

"Here.     Nathan  Tucker." 

Here  Robinson,  casting  his  eyes  round,  spied  M'Laughlan, 
and  being  minded  to  dilute  the  severity  of  his  jury,  he  cried 
out,  "Scotland.  M'Laughlan,  you  shall  represent  her."  No 
answer. 

"M'Laughlan,"  cried  several  voices,  "where  are  ye?  Don't 
you  hear  Judge  Lynch  speak  to  you?" 

"Come,  M'Laughlan,  come  over;  you  are  a  respectable 
man." 

Mr.  M'Laughlan  intimated  briefly  in  his  native  dialect  that 
he  was,  and  intended  to  remain  so ;  by  way  of  comment  on 
which  he  made  a  bolt  from  the  judgment-hall,  but  was  rudely 
seized  and  dragged  before  the  judge. 

"For  Heaven's  sake  don't  be  a  fool,  M'Laughlan.  No  man 
must  refuse  to  be  a  juryman  in  a  trial* by  lynch.  I  saw  a 
Quaker  stoned  to  death  for  it  in  California." 

"I  guess  I  was  thyar,"  said  a  voice  behind  the  judge,  who 
shifted  uneasily. 

M'Laughlan  went  into  the  jury-box  with  a  meaning  look  at 
Robinson,  but  without  another  audible  word. 

571 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Mercy!  mercy!"  cried  Walker. 

"You  must  not  interrupt  the  proceedings,"  said  Judge 
Lynch. 

"Haud  your  whist,  ye  gowk.  Ye  are  no  fand  guilty  yet," 
remonstrated  a  juror. 

The  jury  being  formed,  the  judge  called  the  plaintiff. 

"The  man  sold  me  a  claim  for  thirty  pound.  I  gave  him  the 
blunt  because  I  saw  the  stuff  was  glittery.  Well,  I  worked 
it,  and  I  found  it  work  rather  easy,  that  is  a  fact." 

"Haw!  haw!  haw!"  roared  the  crowd,  but  with  a  horrible 
laughter,  no  placability  in  it. 

"Well,  I  found  lots  of  dust,  and  I  took  it  to  the  merchant, 
and  he  says  it  is  none  of  it  gold.     That  is  my  tale." 

"Have  you  any  witnesses  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Yes,  the  nigger ;  he  saw  it.  Here,  Jacky, 
come  and  tell  them." 

Jacky  was  thrust  forward,  but  was  interrupted  by 
M'Laughlan  as  soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth.  The  Scottish 
juror  declined  to  receive  evidence  but  upon  oath.  The  judge 
allowed  the  objection. 

"Swear  him  in,  then,"  cried  a  hundred  voices. 

"Swear?"  inquired  Jacky  innocently. 

Another  brutal  roar  of  laughter  followed. 

Jacky  was  offended. 

"What  for  you  laugh,  you  stupid  fellows.  I  not  a  com- 
mon black  fellow.  I  been  to  Sydney  and  learn  all  the  white 
man  knows.     Jacky  will  swear,"  added  he. 

"Left  your  bond,"  cried  M'Laughlan.  "It  is  no  sweering 
if  you  dinna  left  your  bond." 

"Dat  so  stupid,"  said  Jacky,  lifting  his  hand  peevishly.  This 
done,  he  delivered  his  evidence  thus.  "Damme  I  saw  dis  fel- 
low sell  dirt  to  dis  fellow,  and  damme  I  saw  dis  fellow  find  a 
good  deal  gold,  and  damme  I  heard  him  say  dis  is  a  dam  good 
job,  and  den  damme  he  put  down  his  spade  an  go  to  sell,  and 
directly  he  come  back  and  say  damme  I  am  done !" 

"Aweel !"  said  M'Laughlan,  "we  jaast  refuse  yon  lad's  evi- 
dence, the  deevelish  heathen." 

A  threatening  murmur. 

"Silence!     Hear  the  defendant." 

Walker,  trembling  like  an  aspen,  owned  to  having  sold  the 

572 


i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

claim,  but  denied  that  the  dust  was  false.  "This  is  what  I 
dug  out  of  it,"  said  he,  and  he  produced  a  small  pinch  of 
dust. 

"Hand  it  to  me,"  said  the  judge.     "It  seems  genuine." 

"Put  it  to  the  test.  Call  the  merchant  for  a  witness,"  cried 
another. 

A  party  ran  instantly  for  Levi.  He  refused  to  come.  They 
dragged  him  with  fearful  menaces. 

"A  test,  old  man — a  test  of  gold !" 

The  old  Jew  cast  his  eyes  around,  took  in  the  whole  scene, 
and  with  a  courage  few  of  the  younger  ones'  would  have 
shown,  defied  that  wild  mob. 

"I  will  give  you  no  test.  I  wash  my  hands  of  your  mad 
passions  and  your  mockeries  of  justice,  men  of  Belial !" 

A  moment's  silence  and  wonder,  a  yell  of  rage  and  a 
dozen  knives  in  the  air. 

The  judge  rose  hastily,  and  in  a  terrible  voice  that  gov- 
erned the  tumult  for  an  instant  said,  "Down  knives !  I  hang 
the  first  man  that  uses  one  in  my  court."  And  during  the 
momentary  pause  that  followed  this  he  cried  out,  "He  has 
given  me  a  test.  Run  and  fetch  me  the  bottle  of  acid  on 
his  table." 

"Hurrah!  Judge  Lynch  for  ever!"  was  now  the  cry, 
and  in  a  minute  the  bottle  was  thru''-t  into  the  judge's 
hand. 

"Young  man,"  said  Isaac  solemnly,  "do  not  pour,  lest 
Heaven  bring  your  soul  to  as  keen  a  test  one  day.  Who 
are  you  that  judge  your  broth<i.-?" 

Judge  Lynch  trembled  visibly  as  the  reverend  man  re- 
buked him  thus,  but  fearing  Isaac  would  go  further,  and 
pay  the  forfeit  of  his  boldness,  he  said  calmly,  "Friends,  re- 
move the  old  man  from  the  court,  but  use  respect.  He  is 
an  aged  man." 

Isaac  was  removed.  The  judge  took  the  bottle  and  poured 
a  drop  on  that  small  pinch  of  dust  the  man  had  last  given 
him. 

No  efifect  followed. 

"I  pronounce  this  to  be  gold." 

"There,"  put  in  M'Laughlan,  "ye  see  the  lad  was  no  de- 
ceiving ye ;  is  it  his  fault  if  a'  the  gowd  is  no  the  same  ?" 

573 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"No !"  whimpered  Walker  eagerly,  and  the  crowd  began 
to  whisper  and  allow  he  might  be  innocent. 

The  man  standing  behind  the  judge  said  with  a  cold  sneer, 
"That  is  the  stuff  he  did  not  sell — now  pour  on  the  stuff  he 
sold." 

These  words  brought  back  the  prejudices  against  the 
prisoner,  and  a  hundred  voices  shouted  "Pour!"  while  their 
eyes  gleamed  with  a  terrible  curiosity. 

Judge  Lynch,  awestruck  by  this  terrible  roar,  now  felt 
what  it  is  to  be  a  judge;  he  trembled  and  hesitated. 

"Pour !"  roared  the  crowd  still  louder  and  more  fiercely. 

M'Laughlan  read  the  judge's  feeling,  and  whimpered  out, 
"Let  it  fa,'  lad— let  it  fa' !" 

"If  he  does,  our  knives  fall  on  him  and  you.     Pour!" 

Robinson  poured :  all  their  fierce  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
experiment.  He  meant  to  pour  a  drop  or  two,  but  the  man 
behind  him  jogged  his  arm,  and  half  the  acid  in  the  bottle 
fell  upon  Walker's  dust. 

A  quantity  of  smoke  rose  from  it,  and  the  particles  fizzed 
and  bubbled  under  the  terrible  test. 

"Trash !  a  rope — no !  dig  a  hole  and  bury  him — no !  fling 
him  off  the  rock  into  the  water." 

"Silence !"  roared  Robinson ;  "I  am  the  judge,  and  it  is  for 
me  to  pronounce  the  verdict." 

"Silence!  hear  Judge  Lynch  I"  Silence  was  not  obtained 
for  five  minutes,  during  which  the  court  was  like  a  forest  of 
wild  beasts  howling. 

"I  condemn  him  to  be  exposed  all  day  with  his  dust  tied 
round  his  neck,  and  then  drummed  out  of  the  camp." 

This  verdict  was  received  first  with  a  yell  of  derisive  laugh- 
ter, then  with  a  roar  of  rage. 

"Down  with  the  judge!" 

"We  are  the  judges !" 

"To  the  rock  with  him!" 

"Ay,  to  the  rock  with  him." 

With  this  an  all-overpowering  rush  was  made,  and  Walker 
was  carried  off  up  the  rock  in  the  middle  of  five  hundred 
infuriated  men. 

The  poor  wretch  cried,  "Mercy !  mercy !" 

"Justice !  dog,"  was  the  roar  in  reply.     The  raging  crowd 

574 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

went  bellowing  up  the  rock  like  a  wave,  and  gained  a  natural 
platform  forty  feet  above  the  great  deep  pool  that  lay  dark 
and  calm  below.  At  the  sight  of  it  the  poor  wretch  screamed 
to  wake  the  dead,  but  the  roars  and  yells  of  vengeance 
drowned  his  voice. 

"Put  his  dust  in  his  pocket,"  cried  one  crueller  than  the 
rest. 

Their  thirst  for  vengeance  was  too  hot  to  wait  for  this 
diabolical  proposal ;  in  a  moment  four  of  them  had  him  by 
the  shoulders  and  heels ;  another  moment  and  the  man  was 
flung  from  the  rock,  uttering  a  terrible  death-cry  in  the  very 
air ;  then  down  his  body  fell  like  lead,  and  struck  with  a 
tremendous  plunge  the  deep  water,  that  splashed  up  a  mo- 
ment, then  closed  and  bubbled  over  it. 

From  that  moment  the  crowd  roared  no  longer,  but  buzzed 
and  murmured,  and  looked  down  upon  their  work  half- 
stupidly. 

"Hush!" 

"What  is  that?"— "It  is  his  head!" 

"He  is  up  again !" 

"Can  he  swim?" — "Fling  stones  on  him!" 

"No !  let  him  alone,  or  we'll  fling  you  atop  of  him." 

"He  is  up,  but  he  can't  swim.  He  is  only  struggling!  he 
is  down  again !" 

He  was  down,  but  only  for  a  moment ;  then  he  appeared 
again  choking  and  gurgling. 

"Mercy!   mercy!" 

"Justice,  thieving  dog!"  was  the  appalling  answer. 

"Save  me !  save  me !  oh,  save  me !  save  me !" 

"Save  yourself,  if  you  are  worth  it !"  was  the  savage  reply. 

The  drowning,  despairing  man's  head  was  sinking  again, 
his  strength  exhausted  by  his  idle  struggles,  when  suddenly 
on  his  left  hand  he  saw  a  round  piece  of  rock  scarce  a  yard 
from  him :  he  made  a  desperate  efifort  and  got  his  hand  on 
it.  Alas,  it  was  so  slimy,  he  could  not  hold  by  it ;  he  fell 
ofif  into  the  water;  he  struggled  up  again,  tried  to  dig  his 
feet  into  the  rock,  but  after  a  convulsive  fling  of  a  few 
seconds  fell  back — the  slimy  rock  mocked  his  grasp.  He 
came  up  again  and  clung,  and  cried  piteously  for  help  and 
mercy.     There  was  none ! — but  a  grim  silence  and  looks  of 

575 


1 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

horrible  curiosity  at  his  idle  struggles.  His  crime  had  struck 
at  the  very  root  of  their  hearts  and  lives.  Then  this  poor 
cowardly  wretch  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  die.  He 
gave  up  praying  to  the  pitiless,  who  could  look  down  and 
laugh  at  his  death  agony,  and  he  cried  upon  the  absent  only. 
"My  children !  my  wife !  my  poor  Jenny !"  and  with  this  he 
shut  his  eyes,  and  struggling  no  more,  sank  quietly  down ! 
down !  down !  First  his  shoulders  disappeared,  then  his  chin, 
then  his  eyes,  and  then  his  hair.  Who  can  fathom  human 
nature?  that  sad  despairing  cry,  which  was  not  addressed  to 
them,  knocked  at  the  bosoms  that  all  his  prayers  to  them  for 
pity  had  never  touched.  A  hasty  low  and  uneasy  murmur 
followed  it,  almost  as  a  report  follows  a  flash. 

"His  wife  and  children !"  cried  several  voices  with  sur- 
prise ;  but  there  were  two  men  this  cry  not  only  touched  but 
pierced — the  plaintiflf  and  the  judge. 

"The  man  has  got  a  wife  and  children,"  cried  Jem  in  dis- 
may, as  he  tried  to  descend  the  rocks  by  means  of  some  di- 
minutive steps.    "They  never  offended  me — he  is  gone  down ! 

me  if  I   see  the  man   drowned  like  a  rat — Hallo ! — 

Splash !" 

Jem's  foot  had  slipped,  and  as  he  felt  he  must  go,  he 
jumped  right  out,  and  fell  twenty  feet  into  the  water. 

At  this  the  crowd  roared  with  laughter,  and  now  was  the 
first  shade  of  good-nature  mixed  with  the  guffaw.  Jem  fell 
so  near  Walker,  that  on  coming  up  he  clutched  the  drown- 
ing man's  head,  and  dragged  him  up  once  more  from  death. 
At  the  sight  of  Walker's  face  above  water  again,  what  did 
the  crowd,  think  you  ? 

They  burst  into  a  loud  hurrah,  and  cheered  Jem  till  the 
echoes  rang  again. 

"Hurrah !     Bravo !     Hurrah  !"  pealed  the  fickle  crowd. 

Now  Walker  no  sooner  felt  himself  clutched  than  he 
clutched  in  return  with  the  deadly  grasp  of  a  drowning  man. 
Jem  struggled  to  get  free  in  vain.  Walker  could  not  hear 
or  see,  he  was  past  all  that ;  but  he  could  cling,  and  he  got 
Jem  round  the  arms  and  pinned  them.  After  a  few  con- 
vulsive efforts  Jem  gave  a  loud  groan.  He  then  said  quietly 
to  the  spectators,  "He  will  drown  me  in  another  half-minute." 
But  at  this  critical  moment,  out  came  from  the  other  end  of 

576 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEx\D 

the  pool  Judge  Lynch  swimming  with  a  long  rope  in  his 
hand ;  one  end  of  this  rope  he  had  made  into  a  bight  ere  he 
took  the  water.  He  swam  behind  Walker  and  Jem,  whipped 
the  noose  over  their  heads  and  tightened  it  under  their  shoul- 
ders. "Haul!"  cried  he  to  Ede,  who  held  the  other 
end  of  the  rope.  Ede  hauled,  and  down  went  the  two 
heads. 

A  groan  of  terror  and  pity  from  the  mob — their  feelings 
were  reversed. 

"Haul  quick,  Ede,"  shouted  Robinson,  "or  you  will  drown 
them,  man  alive." 

Ede  hauled  hand  over  hand,  and  a  train  of  bubbles  was  seen 
making  all  across  the  pool  towards  him ;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment two  dripping  heads  came  up  to  hand  close  together 
like  cherries  on  a  stalk ;  and  now  a  dozen  hands  were  at  the 
rope,  and  the  plaintiff  and  defendant  were  lifted  bodily  up 
on  to  the  flat  rock,  which  came  nearly  to  the  water's  edge 
on  this  side  of  the  pool. 

"Augh !  augh !  augh  !  augh  !"  gasped  Jem.  Walker  said 
nothing :  he  lay  white  and  motionless,  water  trickling  from 
his  mouth,  nose,  and  ears. 

Robinson  swam  quietly  ashore.  The  rocks  thundered  with 
cheers  over  his  head. 

The  next  moment  "the  many-headed  beast"  remembered 
that  all  this  was  a  waste  of  time,  and  bolted  under  ground 
like  a  rabbit,  and  dug  and  pecked  for  the  bare  life  with  but 
one  thought  left,  and  that  was  Gold. 

"How  are  you,  Jem  ?" 

"Oh,  captain,  oh !"  gasped  poor  Jem,  "I  am  choked — I 
am  dead — I  am  poisoned — why,  I'm  full  of  water;  bring  this 
other  beggar  to  my  tent,  and  we  will  take  a  nanny-goat 
together." 

So  Jem  was  taken  off  hanging  his  head,  and  deadly  sick, 
supported  by  two  friends,  and  Walker  was  carried  to  the 
same  tent,  and  stripped  and  rubbed,  and  rolled  up  in  a 
blanket :  and  lots  of  brandy  poured  down  him  and  Jem,  to 
counteract  the  poison  they  had  swallowed. 

Robinson  went  to  Mr.  Levi  to  see  if  he  would  lend  him 
a  suit  while  he  got  his  own  dried.  The  old  Jew  received 
my  lord  judge  with  a  low  ironical  bow,  and  sent  Nathan  to 

"  577 


I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

borrow  the  suit  from  another  Israelite.     He  then  lectured 
my  Lord  Lynch. 

"Learn  from  this,  young  man,  how  easy  it  is  to  set  a  stone 
rolling  down  hill,  how  hard  to  stop  it  half-way  down.  Law 
must  always  be  above  the  mob,  or  it  cannot  be  law.  If  it 
fall  into  their  hands,  it  goes  down  to  their  own  level,  and 
becomes  revenge,  passion,  cruelty,  anything  but  law.  The 
madmen ;  they  have  lost  two  thousand  ounces  of  gold,  to 
themselves  and  to  the  world,  while  they  have  been  wasting 
their  time  and  risking  their  souls  over  a  pound  of  brass,  and 
aspiring  to  play  the  judge  and  the  executioner,  and  playing 
nothing  but  the  brute  and  the  fool — as  in  the  days  of  old." 
Mr.  Levi  concluded  by  intimating  that  there  was  very  little 
common-sense  left  upon  earth,  and  that  little  it  would  be  lost 
time  to  search  for  among  the  Gentiles.  Finally  his  discourse 
galled  Judge  Lynch,  who  thereupon  resolved  to  turn  the 
laugh  against  him. 

"Mr.  Levi,"  said  he,  "I  see  you  know  a  thing  or  two ; 
will  you  be  so  good  as  to  answer  me  a  question?" — "If  it 
come  within  my  knowledge,"  replied  the  senior  with  grave 
politeness. 

"Which  weighs  the  heaviest,  sir,  a  pound  of  gold  or  a 
pound  of  feathers?"  and  he  winked  at  Nathan,  but  looked 
in  Isaac's  face  as  demure  as  a  Quakeress. 

"A  pound  of  feathers,"  replied  Isaac. 

Robinson  looked  half-puzzled,  half-satirical. 

"A  childish  question."  said  Isaac  sternly.  "What  boy 
knows  not  that  feathers  are  weighed  by  avoirdupois,  and  gold 
by  troy  weight,  and  consequently  that  a  pound  of  feathers 
weighs  sixteen  ounces,  and  a  pound  of  gold  but  twelve?" 

"Well,  that  is  a  new  answer,"  cried  Robinson.  "Good- 
bye, sir;  you  are  too  hard  for  me,"  and  he  made  off  to  his 
own  tent.     It  was  a  day  of  defeats. 

The  moment  he  was  out  of  hearing  Isaac  laughed,  the  only 
time  he  had  done  it  during  six  years.  And  what  a  laugh  !  How 
sublimely  devoid  of  merriment !  a  sudden  loud  cackle  of  three 
distinct  cachinni,  not  declining  into  a  chuckle,  as  we  do,  but 
ending  sharp  in  abrupt  and  severe  gravity. 

"I  discomfited  the  young  man,  Nathan — I  mightily  discom- 
fited him — Ha!  ha!  ho!  Nathan,  did  you  as  I  bade  you?" 

578 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Yes,  master;  I  found  the  man,  and  I  sent  Samuel,  who 
went  hastily  to  him,  and  cried  out,  Mr.  Meadows  is  in  the 
camp  and  wishes  to  speak  to  you.  Master,  he  started  up  in 
wonder,  and  his  whole  face  changed ;  without  doubt  he  is 
the  man  you  suspected." 

"Yes,"  said  Isaac,  reflecting  deeply.  "The  man  is  Peter 
Crawley;  and  what  does  he  here?  Some  deep  villainy  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  this,  but  I  will  fathom  it,  ay,  and  thwart  it, 
I  swear  by  the  God  of  Abraham.  Let  me  think  awhile  in 
my  tent.     Sit  you  at  the  receipt  of  gold." 

The  old  man  sat  upon  a  divan  in  his  tent,  and  pondered 
on  all  that  had  happened  in  the  mine ;  above  all,  on  the 
repeated  attacks  that  had  been  made  on  that  one  tent.  He 
remembered,  too,  that  George  had  said  sorrowfully  to  him 
more  than  once,  "No  letters  for  me,  Mr.  Levi?  no  letter 
again  this  month  ?"  The  shrewd  old  man  tied  these  two 
threads  together  directly. 

"All  these  things  are  one,"  said  Isaac  Levi. 

Thus  pondering,  and  patiently  following  out  his  threads, 
the  old  man  paced  a  mile  down  the  camp  to  the  post-office,  for 
he  had  heard  the  postman's  horn,  and  he  expected  important 
letters  from  England,  from  his  friend  and  agent  at  Farn- 
borough,  old  Cohen. 

There  were  letters  from  England,  but  none  in  old  Cohen's 
hand.  He  put  them  in  his  bosom  with  a  disappointed  look, 
and  paced  slowly  and  deeply  pondering  back  towards  his 
tent.  He  was  about  half-way,  when,  much  to  his  surprise,  a 
stone  fell  close  to  him.  He  took,  however,  no  notice — did 
not  even  accelerate  his  pace  or  look  round ;  but  the  next 
moment  a  lump  of  clay  struck  him  on  the  arm.  He  turned 
round  quivering  with  rage  at  the  insult,  and  then  he  saw 
a  whole  band  of  diggers  behind  him,  who,  the  moment  he 
turned  his  face,  began  to  hoot  and  pelt  him. 

"Who  got  poor  Walker  drowned?  Ah!  ah!  ah!" 

"Who  refused  to  give  evidence  before  Judge  Lynch?"  cried 
another.     "Ah  !  ah !  ah !" 

There  were  clearly  two  parties  in  the  mob. 

"Down  with  the  Jew — the  blood-sucker !  We  do  all  the 
work  and  he  gets  all  the  profit.     Ah  !  ah !  ah !" 

And  a  lump  of  clay  struck  that  reverend  head,  and  almost 

579 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

stunned  the  poor  old  man.  He  sunk  upon  his  knees,  and  in 
a  moment  his  coat  was  torn  to  shreds,  but  with  unexpected 
activity  he  wriggled  himself  free,  and  drew  a  dagger,  long, 
bright,  and  sharp  as  a  needle.  His  assailants  recoiled  a  mo- 
ment. The  next  a  voice  was  heard  from  behind,  "Get  on 
both  sides  of  him  at  once !" 

Isaac  looked  and  saw  Peter  Crawley.  Then  the  old  man 
trembled  for  his  life,  and  cried,  "Help !  help !"  and  they 
hemmed  him  in  and  knocked  his  dagger  out  of  his  hand,  and 
hustled  and  pommelled  him,  and  would  have  torn  him  in 
pieces,  but  he  slipped  down,  and  two  of  them  got  in  front 
and  dragged  him  along  the  ground. 

"To  Walker's  pool,"  cried  brutus,  putting  himself  at  the 
head  of  those  who  followed. 

All  of  a  sudden  Isaac,  though  half-insensible,  heard  a  roar 
of  rage  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  lion — a  whizz,  a  blow 
like  a  thunder-clap — saw  one  of  his  assassins  driven  into  the 
air,  and  falling  like  a  dead  clod  three  yards  off,  found  him- 
self dropped  and  a  man  striding  over  him.  It  was  George 
Fielding,  who  stood  a  single  moment  snorting  and  blowing 
out  his  cheeks  with  rage,  then  went  slap  at  the  mob  as  a  lion 
goes  at  sheep ;  seized  one  of  the  small  ruffians  by  the  knees, 
and  by  a  tremendous  effect  of  strength  and  rage,  actually 
used  him  as  a  flail,  and  struck  brutus  with  the  man's  head, 
and  knocked  that  ruffian  down  stunned,  and  his  nose  levelled 
with  his  cheeks.  The  mob  recoiled  a  moment  from  this  one 
hero.  George  knew  it  could  be  but  for  a  moment,  so  he  had 
no  sooner  felled  brutus,  and  hurled  the  other's  carcass  in  their 
faces,  than  he  pounced  on  Isaac,  whipped  him  on  his  back 
and  ran  off  with  him. 

He  had  got  thirty  yards  with  him  ere  the  staggered  mob 
could  realise  it  all. 

The  mob  recovered  their  surprise,  and,  with  a  yell  like  a 
pack  of  hounds  bursting  covert,  dashed  after  the  pair.  The 
young  Hercules  made  a  wonderful  effort,  but  no  mortal  man 
could  run  very  fast  so  weighted.  In  spite  of  his  start  they 
caught  him  in  about  a  hundred  yards.  He  heard  them  close 
upon  him — put  the  Jew  down — and  whispered  hastily,  "Run 
to  your  tent,"  and  instantly  wheeled  round  and  flung  himself 
at  thirty  men,     He  struck  two  blows  and  disabled  a  couple; 

q8o 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

the  rest  came  upon  him  like  one  battering-ram,  and  bore  him 
to  the  ground ;  but  even  as  he  went  down  he  caught  the  near- 
est assailant  by  the  throat,  and  they  rolled  over  one  another, 
the  rest  kicking  savagely  at  George's  head  and  loins.  The 
poor  fellow  defended  his  head  with  one  arm  and  his  assail- 
ant's body  for  a  little  while,  but  he  received  some  terrible 
kicks  on  the  back  and  legs. 

"Give  it  him  on  the  head !" 

"Kick  his  life  out !" 

"Settle  his  hash!" 

They  were  so  fiercely  intent  on  finishing  George  that  they 
did  not  observe  a  danger  that  menaced  themselves. 

As  a  round  shot  cuts  a  lane  through  a  column  of  infantry, 
so  clean  came  two  files  of  special  constables  with  their  short 
staves  severing  the  mob  in  two — crick,  crack,  crick,  crick, 
crick,  crick,  crack,  crack.  In  three  seconds  ten  heads  were 
broken  with  a  sound  just  like  glass  bottles  under  the  short 
deadly  truncheon,  and  there  lay  half-a-dozen  ruffians  writhing 
on  the  ground  and  beating  the  devil's  tattoo  with  their  heels. 

"Charge  back !"  cried  the  head-policeman  as  soon  as  he  had 
cut  clean  through. 

But  at  the  very  word  the  cowardly  crew  fled  on  all  sides 
yelling.  The  police  followed  in  different  directions  a  little 
way,  and  through  this  error  three  of  the  felled  got  up  and 
ran  staggering  off.  When  the  head-policeman  saw  that,  he 
cried  out,  "Back,  and  secure  prisoners." 

They  caught  three  who  were  too  stupefied  to  run,  and  res- 
cued brutus  from  George,  who  had  got  him  by  the  throat  and 
was  hammering  the  ground  with  his  head. 

"Let   go,   George,"   cried   policeman   Robinson   in   some 
anxiety ;  "you  are  killing  the  man." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  kill  him  neither,"  said  George. 

And  he  slowly  withdrew  his  grasp  and  left  off  hammering 
with  the  rascal's  head,  but  looked  at  him  as  if  he  would  have 
preferred  to  have  gone  on  a  little  longer.  They  captured 
the  three  others. 

"Now  secure  them,"  cried  Ede.     "Out  with  your  wipes." 

"There  is  no  need  of  wipes,"  said  Robinson. 

He  then,  with  a  slight  blush,  and  rather  avoiding  George's 
eye,  put  his  hand  in  his  pockets  and  produced  four  beautiful 

581 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

sets  of  handcuffs,  bran-new — polished  to  the  nine.  With  a 
magical  turn  of  the  hand  he  handcuffed  the  three  men,  still 
avoiding  George's  eye.  Unnecessary.  George's  sense  of  hu- 
mour was  very  faint,  and  so  was  his  sweetheart's — a  sad 
defect. 

Perhaps  I  may  as  well  explain  here  how  Robinson  came  so 
opportunely  to  the  rescue.  The  fact  is,  that  a  week  ago  he 
had  ordered  a  lot  of  constables'  staves  and  four  sets  of  hand- 
cuffs. The  staves  were  nicely  painted  and  lettered  "Captain 
Robinson's  Police,  A,  B,  C,"  &c.  They  had  just  come  home, 
and  Robinson  was  showing  them  to  Ede  and  his  gang,  when 
a  hullabaloo  was  heard,  and  Levi  was  seen  full  half-a-mile 
off  being  hunted.  Such  an  opportunity  of  trying  the  new 
staves  was  not  to  be  neglected.  Ede  and  his  men  jumped 
out  of  their  claim  and  ran  with  Robinson  to  the  rescue.  But 
they  would  have  been  too  late  if  George,  who  had  just  come 
into  the  camp  at  that  very  part,  had  not  made  his  noble  and 
desperate  assault  and  retreat,  which  baffled  the  assailants  for 
two  precious  minutes. 

Robinson — What  shall  we  do  with  them  now  we  have  got 
them? 

George. — Give  them  a  kick  apiece  on  their  behinds,  and  let 
them  go — the  rubbish  ! 

Robinson. — Not  if  I  know  it. 

Ede. — I  say  blackguard  'em. 

Robinson. — No,  that  would  be  letting  ourselves  down  to 
their  level.  No,  we  will  expose  them  as  we  did  my  old  pal 
here  before. 

Ede. — Why,  that  is  what  I  mean.  Ticket  them — put  a 
black  card  on  them  with  their  offence  wrote  out  large. 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  All  four  were  tied  to  posts  in 
the  sun  and  black-carded,  or,  as  some  spell  it,  placarded, 
thus : — 

COWARD. 

Attacked  and  abused  an  old  man. 

N.B. — Not  hanged  this  time,  because  they  got  a  licking 

then  and  there. 

"Let  us  go  and  see  after  Mr.  Levi,  George." 

582 


•^ 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Well,  Tom,  I  had  rather  not." 

"Why  not?  he  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"That  is  it,  Tom.  The  old  man  is  of  rather  a  grateful  turn 
of  mind,  and  it  is  ten  to  one  if  he  doesn't  go  and  begin  prais- 
ing me  to  my  face,  and  then  that  makes  me  I  don't  know 
which  way  to  look.     Wait  till  he  has  cooled  upon  it  a  bit." 

"You  are  a  rum  one.  Well,  George,  I  have  got  one  pro- 
posal you  won't  say  no  to.  First  I  must  tell  you  there  really 
is  a  river  of  quartz  in  the  country." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  ?" — "Yes,  and  I  didn't  believe  it.  But  I 
have  spoken  to  Jacky  about  it,  and  he  has  seen  it ;  it  is  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bush.  I  am  ready  to  start  for  it  to- 
morrow, for  there  is  little  good  to  be  done  here  now  the 
weather  has  broken." 

George  assented  with  joy ;  but  when  Robinson  suggested 
that  Jacky  would  be  very  useful  to  pilot  them  through  the 
bush,  his  countenance  fell. 

"Don't  think  of  it,"  said  he.  "I  know  he  is  here,  Tom,  and 
I  shan't  go  after  him.  But  don't  let  him  come  near  me,  the 
nasty  little  creeping  murdering  varmint.  Poor  Abner  will 
never  get  over  his  tomahawk — not  if  he  lives  fifty  years." 

In  short,  it  was  agreed  they  should  go  alone  at  peep  of  day. 

"I  have  talked  it  over  with  Jem  already,  and  he  will  take 
charge  of  our  tent  till  we  come  back." 

"So  be  it." 

"We  must  take  some  provisions  with  us,  George." 

"I'll  go  and  get  some  cold  meat  and  bread,  Tom." 

"Do !     I  am  going  to  the  tent." 

Robinson,  it  is  to  be  observed,  had  not  been  in  his  tent  since 
George  and  he  left  it  and  took  their  gold  out  of  it  just  before 
sunrise.  As  he  now  carried  their  joint  wealth  about  his  per- 
son his  anxiety  was  transferred. 

Now  at  the  door  of  the  tent  he  was  intercepted  by  Jem, 
very  red  in  the  face,  partly  with  brandy,  partly  with  rage. 
Walker,  whose  life  he  had  saved,  whom  he  had  taken  to  his 
own  tent,  and  whom  Robinson  had  seen  lying  asleep  in  the 
best  blanket,  this  Walker  had  absconded  with  his  boots  and 
half  a  pound  of  tobacco. 

"Well,  but  you  knew  he  was  a  rogue.  Why  did  you  leave 
him  alone  in  your  tent?" — "I  onlv  left  him  for  a  minute  to  go 

583' 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


1 


a  few  steps  with  you,  if  you  remember,  and  you  said  yourself 
he  was  asleep.  Well,  the  moment  our  backs  were  turned  he 
must  have  got  up  and  done  the  trick." 

"I  don't  like  it,"  said  Robinson. 

"No  more  don't  I,*"  said  Jem. 

"If  he  was  not  asleep,  he  must  have  heard  me  say  I  was 
going  to  cross  the  bush  with  my  mate  to-morrow  at  day- 
break." 

"Well,  and  what  if  he  did  ?" 

"He  is  like  enough  to  have  gone  and  told  the  whole  gang." 

"And  what  if  he  has?"  Robinson  was  about  to  explain 
to  Jem  that  he  now  carried  all  the  joint  gold  in  his  pockets, 
but  he  forebore.  "It  is  too  great  a  stake  for  me  to  trust  any- 
body unless  I  am  forced,"  thought  he.  So  he  only  said, 
"Well,  it  is  best  to  be  prudent.  I  shall  change  the  hour  for 
starting." 

"You  are  a  cunning  one,  captain,  but  I  really  think  you 
are  over-careful  sometimes." 

"Jem,"  said  the  other  gravely,  "there  is  a  mystery  in  this 
mine.  There  is  a  black  gang  in  it,  and  that  Walker  is  one 
of  them.  I  think  they  have  sworn  to  have  my  gold  or  my 
life,  and  they  shan't  have  either,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  shall  start 
two  hours  before  the  sun." 

He  was  quite  right.  Walker  had  been  shamming  sleep, 
and  full  four  hours  ago  he  had  told  his  confederates,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  all  that  he  had  heard  in  the  enemy's  camp. 

Walker,  a  timid  villain,  was  unprepared  for  the  burst  of 
savage  exultation  from  brutus  and  Black  Will  that  followed 
this  intelligence.  These  two,  by  an  instinct  quick  as  light- 
ning, saw  the  means  of  gratifying  at  one  blow  their  cupidity 
and  hate.  Crawley  had  already  told  them  he  had  seen  Rob- 
inson come  out  of  Levi's  tent  after  a  long  stay,  and  their 
other  spies  had  told  them  his  own  tent  had  been  left  un- 
guarded for  hours.  They  put  these  things  together,  and 
conjectured  at  once  that  the  men  had  now  their  swag  about 
them  in  one  form  or  other. 

"When  do  they  go?" 

"To-morrow  at  break  of  day,"  he  said, 

"The  bush  is  very  thick !"  ^ 

"And  dark  too !" 

584 


a 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"It  is  just  the  place  for  a  job." 

"Will  two  of  you  be  enough  ?" 

"Plenty,  the  way  we  shall  work." 

"The  men  are  strong  and  armed." 

"Their  strength  will  be  no  use  to  them,  and  they  shan't  get 
time  to  use  their  arms." 

"For  Heaven's  sake  shed  no  blood  unnecessarily,"  said 
Crawley,  beginning  to  tremble  at  the  pool  of  crime  to  whose 
brink  he  had  led  these  men. 

"Do  you  think  they  will  give  up  their  swag  while  they  are 
alive?"  asked  brutus  scornfully. 

"Then  I  wash  my  hands  of  it  all,"  cried  the  little  self- 
deceiving  caitiff ;  and  he  affected  to  having  nothing  to  do 
with  it. 

Walker  was  then  thanked  for  his  information,  and  he 
thought  this  was  a  good  opportunity  for  complaining  of  his 
wrongs  and  demanding  redress.  This  fellow  was  a  thorough 
egotist,  saw  everything  from  his  own  point  of  view  only. 

Jem  had  dragged  him  before  Judge  Robinson ;  Robinson 
had  played  the  beak  and  found  him  guilty;  Levi  had  fur- 
nished the  test  on  which  he  had  been  convicted.  All  these 
had  therefore  cruelly  injured  and  nearly  killed  him. 

Himself  was  not  the  cause.  He  had  not  set  all  these 
stones  rolling  by  forging  upon  Nature  and  robbing  Jem  of 
thirty  pounds.  No !  he  could  not  see  that,  nor  did  he  thank 
Jem  one  bit  for  jumping  in  and  saving  his  life  at  risk  of  his 
own.  Why  did  he  ever  get  him  thrown  in,  the  brute?  if  he 
was  not  quite  drowned  he  was  nearly,  and  Jem  the  cause. 

His  confederates  soothed  him  with  promises  of  vengeance 
on  all  these  three  his  enemies,  and  soon  after  catching  sight 
of  one  of  them,  Levi,  they  kept  their  word ;  they  roused  up 
some  of  the  other  diggers  against  Isaac  on  the  plea  that  he 
had  refused  to  give  evidence  against  Walker,  and  so  they 
launched  a  mob  and  trusted  to  mob  nature  for  the  rest.  The 
recoil  of  this  superfluous  villainy  was,  as  often  happens,  a 
blow  to  the  head  scheme. 

brutus,  who  was  wanted  at  peep  of  day  for  the  dark 
scheme  already  hinted  at,  got  terribly  battered  by  George 
Fielding,  and  placarded,  and,  what  was  worse,  chained  to  a 
post  by  Robinson  and  Ede.     It  became  necessary  to  sound 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

his  body  and  spirit.  One  of  the  gang  was  sent -by  Crawley 
to  inquire  whether  he  felt  strong  enough  to  go  with  Black 
Will  on  that  difficult  and  dangerous  work  to-morrow.  The 
question  put  in  a  passing  whisper  was  answered  in  a  whisper. 

"I  am  as  strong  as  a  lion  for  revenge.  Tell  them  I  would 
not  miss  to-morrow's  work  for  all  the  gold  in  Australia." 
The  lowering  face  spoke  loud  enough  if  the  mouth  whis- 
pered. 

The  message  was  brought  back  to  Black  Will  and  Crawley. 

"What  energy !"  said  Crawley  admiringly. 

"Ay !"  said  Black  Will,  "that  is  your  sort ;  give  me  a  pal 
with  his  skin  smarting  and  his  bones  aching  for  the  sort  of 
job  that  wood  shall  see  to-morrow.  Have  they  marked  him?" 
he  inquired  with  a  strange  curiosity. 

"I  am  afraid  they  have ;  his  nose  is  smashed  frightful." 

"I  am  glad  of  it ;  now  we  are  brothers,  and  will  have  blood 
for  blood." 

"Your  expressions  are  dreadfully  terse,"  said  Crawley,  try- 
ing to  smile,  but  looking  scared  instead ;  "but  I  don't  under- 
stand your  remark.  You  were  not  in  the  late  unsuccessful 
attack  on  Mr.  Levi,  and  you  escaped  most  providentially  in 
the  night  business — the  men  have  not  marked  you,  my  good 
friend/' 

"Haven't  they?"  yelled  the  man  with  a  tremendous  oath. 
"Haven't  they?"  Look  here!"  A  glance  was  enough. 
Crawley  turned  wan  and  shuddered  from  head  to  foot. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

WE  left  Robinson  and  Jem  talking  at  the  entrance  to  the 
tent. 
"Come  in,"  said  Robinson ;  "you  will  take  care  of  this  tent 
while  we  are  gone." 

Jem  promised  faithfully. 

He  then  asked  Robinson  to  explain  to  him  the  dodge  of 
the  gut-lines.     Robinson  showed  him,  and  how  the  bells  were 
rung  at  his  head  by  the  thief's  foot. 
Jem  complimented  him  highly. 

Robinson  smiled,  but  the  next  moment  sighed.     "They  will 

586 


i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

be  too  clever  for  us  some  of  these  dark  nights  ;  see  how  nearly 
tliey  have  nicked  us  again  and  again !" 

"Don't  be  down  on  your  luck,  captain !" 

"Jem,  what  frightens  me  is  the  villains  getting  off  so ;  there 
they  are  to  try  again,  and  next  time  the  luck  will  be  theirs ; 
it  can't  be  always  ours — why  should  it?  Jem,  there  was  a 
man  in  my  tent  last  night." 

"There  is  no  denying  that,  captain." 

"Well,  Jem,  I  can't  get  it  off  my  heart  that  I  was  to  kill 
that  man,  or  he  me.  Everything  was  on  my  side.  I  had  my 
gut-lines,  and  I  had  a  revolver  and  a  cutlass — and  I  took  up 
the  cutlass  like  a  fool ;  if  I  had  taken  up  the  revolver,  the 
man  would  be  dead.  I  took  up  the  wrong,  and  that  man  will 
be  my  death.  The  cards  never  forgive !  I  had  the  odd  trick, 
and  didn't  take  it — I  shall  lose  the  game." 

"No,  ye  shan't,"  cried  Jem  hastily.  "What  if  the  man  got 
clear  for  the  moment?  We  will  hunt  him  out  for  you.  You 
give  me  his  description." 

"I  couldn't,"  said  Robinson  despondently.  "It  was  so 
dark !  Here  is  his  pistol,  but  that  is  no  use.  If  I  had  but 
a  clue,  ay,  ever  so  slight,  I'd  follow  it  up ;  but  no,  there  is 
none.  Hallo !  what  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  it  ?  What  on 
earth  is  the  man  looking  at  like  that?" 

"What  was  you  asking  for?"  stammered  Jem.  "Wasn't 
it  a  clue?"— "Yes." 

Robinson  got  up  and  came  to  Jem,  who  was  standing  with 
dilated  eyes  looking  at  the  ground  in  the  very  corner  of  the 
tent.  He  followed  the  direction  of  Jem's  eyes,  and  was 
instantly  transfixed  with  curiosity  and  raising  horror. 

"Take  it  up,  Jem,"  he  gasped. 

"No,  you  take  it  up !  it  was  you  who " 

"No — yes !  there  is  George's  voice.  I  wouldn't  let  him  see 
such  a  thing  for  the  world.    O  God !  here  is  another." 

"Another?" 

"Yes,  in  the  long  grass !  and  there  is  George's  voice.  Come 
out,  Jem.  Not  a  word  to  George  for  the  world.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you.  If  it  hasn't  turned  me  sick.  I  should  make  a 
poor  hangman.  But  it  was  in  self-defence,  thank  Heaven 
for  that!" 

"Where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurrv,  Tom  ?"  said  George. 

587 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Oh,  only  a  little  way  with  Jem." 

"Don't  be  long ;  it  is  getting  late." 

"No,  George!" 

"Jem,  this  is  an  ugly  job!" 

"An  ugly  job,  no !  him,  I  wish  it  was  his  head.    Give 

them,  me,  captain." 

"What,  will  you  take  charge  of  them  ?" 

"That  I  will,  captain,  and  what  is  more,  I'll  find  your 
enemy  out  by  them,  and  when  you  come  back  he  shall  be  in 
custody  waiting  your  orders.     Give  them  me." 

"Yes,  take  them.  Oh,  but  I  am  glad  to  be  rid  of  them. 
What  a  ghastly  look  they  have." 

"I  don't  care  for  their  looks.  I  am  right  glad  to  see  them 
— they  are  a  clue,  and  no  mistake.  Keep  dark  to-night.  Don't 
tell  this  to  Ede — he  is  a  good  fellow,  but  chatters  too  much 
— let  me  work  it  out.  I'll  find  the  late  owner  double  quick." 
said  Jem,  with  a  somewhat  brutal  laugh. 

"Your  orders  about  the  prisoners,  captain?"  cried  Ede, 
coming  up.     Robinson  reflected. 

"Turn  them  all  loose — but  one." 

"And  what  shall  I  do  with  him  ?" 

"Hum !     Put  a  post  up  in  your  own  tent." — "Yes." 

"Tie  him  to  it  in  his  handcuffs.    Give  him  food  enough." 

"And  when  shall  we  loose  him?" 

"At   noon  to-morrow." 

"It  shall  be  done !  but  you  must  come  and  show  me  which 
of  the  four  it  is." 

Robinson  went  with  Ede  and  his  men. 

"Turn  this  one  loose,"  said  he ;  it  was  done  on  the  instant. 

"And  this. — And  this. — And"  (laying  his  finger  on  brutus) 
"keep  this  one  prisoner  in  your  tent  handcuffed  and  chained 
till  noon  to-morrow." 

At  the  touch  brutus  trembled  with  hate ;  at  the  order  his 
countenance  fell  like  Cain's. 

Full  two  hours  before  sunrise  the  patrol  called  Robinson 
by  his  own  order,  and  the  friends  made  for  the  bush  with  a 
day's  provision  and  their  blankets,  their  picks,  and  their  re- 
volvers. When  they  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  bush,  Robin- 
son halted  and  looked  round  to  see  if  they  were  followed. 
The  night  was  pretty  clear;  no  one  was  in  sight.     The  men 

588 


1 


I 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

struck  rapidly  into  the  bush,  which  at  this  part  had  been 
cut  and  cleared  in  places,  lying  as  it  did  so  near  a  mine. 

"What,  are  we  to  run,  Tom?" — "Yes!  I  want  to  get  to 
the  river  of  quartz  as  soon  as  possible,"  was  the  dry  answer. 

"With  all  my  heart." 

After  running  about  half  a  mile  George  pulled  up,  and 
they  walked. 

"What  do  you  keep  looking  behind  for,  Tom?" 

"Oh,  nothing." 

"You  fidget  me,  Tom!" 

"Can't  help  it.  I  shall  be  like  that  till  daylight.  They 
have  shaken  my  nerves  among  them." 

"Don't  give  way  to  such  nonsense.  What  are  vou  afraid 
of?" 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  anything.    Come,  George,  another  run." 

"Oh,  as  you  like :  this  beats  all." 

This  run  brought  them  to  the  end  of  the  broad  road,  and 
they  found  two  smaller  paths ;  after  some  hesitation,  Robin- 
son took  the  left-hand  one,  and  it  landed  them  in  such  a 
terribly  thick  scrub  they  could  hardly  move.  They  forced 
their  way  through  it,  getting  some  frightful  scratches,  but 
after  struggling  with  it  for  a  good  half-hour,  began  to  fear 
it  was  impenetrable  and  interminable,  when  the  sun  rising 
shown  them  a  clear  space  some  yards  ahead.  They  burst 
through  the  remainder  of  the  scrub  and  came  out  upon  an  old 
clearing  full  a  mile  long  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  broad.  They 
gave  a  hurrah  at  the  sight  of  it,  but  when  they  came  to  walk 
on  it,  the  ground  was  clay,  and  so  sticky  with  a  late  shower 
that  they  were  like  flics  moving  upon  varnish,  and  at  last 
were  fain  to  take  off  their  shoes  and  stockings  and  run  over 
it  on  the  tips  of  their  toes.  At  the  end  of  this  opening  they 
came  to  a  place  like  the  "Seven  Dials" — no  end  of  little  paths 
into  the  wood,  and  none  very  promising.  After  a  natural 
hesitation,  they  took  the  one  that  seemed  to  be  most  on  their 
line  of  march,  and  followed  it  briskly  till  it  brought  them 
plump  upon  a  brook,  and  there  it  ended.     Robinson  groaned. 

"Confound  the  bush !"  cried  he.  "You  were  wrong  not  to 
let  me  bring  Jacky.    What  is  to  be  done?" — "Go  back." 

"I  hate  going  back.  I  would  rather  go  thirty  miles  ahead 
than  one  back.     I've  got  an  idea :  off  shoes  and  paddle  up 

589 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


I 


the  stream ;  perhaps  we  shall  find  a  path  that  comes  to  it 
from  the  other  side." 

They  paddled  up  the  stream  a  long  way,  and  at  last,  sure 
enough  they  found  a  path  that  came  down  to  the  stream  from 
the  opposite  side.  They  now  took  a  hasty  breakfast,  wash- 
ing it  down  with  water  from  the  brook,  then  dived  into  the 
wood. 

The  sun  was  high  in  heaven,  yet  still  they  had  not  got  out 
of  the  bush. 

"I  can't  make  it  out,  George;  there  is  nothing  to  steer  by, 
and  these  paths  twist  and  turn  so.  I  don't  think  we  shall 
do  any  good  till  night.  When  I  see  the  southern  cross  in  the 
sky  I  shall  be  able  to  steer  north-east.    That  is  our  line." 

"Don't  give  in,"  said  George;  "I  think  it  looks  clearer 
ahead.    I  believe  we  are  at  the  end  of  it." 

"No  such  luck,  I  am  afraid,"  was  the  despondent  reply. 

For  all  that,  in  a  few  yards  more  they  came  upon  an  open 
place. 

They  could  not  help  cheering.  "At  last !"  cried  they.  But 
this  triumph  gave  way  to  doubts. 

"I  am  afraid  we  are  not  clear  yet,"  said  Robinson.  "See, 
there  is  wood  again  on  the  other  side.  Why,  it  is  that  sticky 
clay  again.  Why,  George,  it  is  the  clearing  we  crossed  be- 
fore breakfast." 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,  Tom,"  cried  George  angrily. 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said  the  other  sadly.  "Come  across.  We 
shall  soon  know  by  our  footsteps  in  the  clay." 

Sure  enough,  half-way  across  they  found  a  track  of  foot- 
steps, George  was  staggered.  "It  is  the  place,  I  really 
think,"  said  he.  "But,  Tom,  when  you  talk  of  the  footsteps, 
look  here !  You  and  I  never  made  all  these  tracks.  This  is 
the  track  of  a  party."  jf 

Robinson  examined  the  ground.  -^ 

"Tracks  of  three  men :  two  barefoot,  one  in  nailed  boots." 

"Well,  is  that  us?" — "Look  at  the  clearing,  George;  you 
have  got  eyes.    It  is  the  same." 

"So  'tis ;  but  I  can't  make  out  the  three  tracks." 

Robinson  groaned.  "I  can.  This  third  track  has  come 
since  we  went  by." 

"No  doubt  of  that,  Tom.    Well?" 

590 


■IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Well,  don't  you  see?" 

"No — what  ?" — "You  and  I  are  being  hunted." 

George  looked  blank  a  moment.  "Can't  we  be  followed 
without  being  hunted?" 

"No;  others  might,  but  not  me.  We  are  being  hunted," 
said  Robinson  sternly.  "George,  I  am  sick  of  this ;  let  us 
end  it.  Let  us  show  these  fellows  they  are  hunting  lions  and 
not  sheep.     Is  your  revolver  loaded !" — "Yes." 

"Then  come  on !"  And  he  set  off  to  run,  following  the 
old  tracks.  George  ran  by  his  side,  his  eyes  flashing  with 
excitement.  They  came  to  the  brook.  Robinson  showed 
George  that  their  pursuer  had  taken  some  steps  down  the 
stream.  "No  matter,"  said  he,  "don't  lose  time,  George;  go 
right  up  the  bank  to  our  path.  He  will  have  puzzled  it  out, 
you  may  take  your  oath." 

Sure  enough  they  found  another  set  of  footsteps  added 
to  their  own.  Robinson  paused  before  entering  the  wood. 
He  put  fresh  caps  on  his  revolver.  "Now,  George,"  said  he 
in  a  low  voice,  "we  couldn't  sleep  in  this  wood  without  hav- 
ing our  throats  cut,  but  before  night  I'll  be  out  of  danger 
or  in  my  grave,  for  life  is  not  worth  having  in  the  midst  of 
enemies.  Hush !  hus-s-sh !  You  must  not  speak  to  me  but 
in  a  whisper." 

"No !"  whispered  George. 

"Nor  rustle  against  the  boughs." 

"No,  I  won't,"  whispered  George.  "But  make  me  sensible, 
Tom.  Tell  me  what  all  this  caution  is  to  lead  to.  What  are 
you  doing?" 

"I  AM  HUNTING  THE  HUNTER !"  hissed  Robinson  with 
concentrated  fury ;  and  he  glided  rapidly  down  the  trodden 
path,  his  revolver  cocked,  his  ears  pricked,  his  eye  on  fire, 
and  his  teeth  clenched.  George  followed  silent  and  cautious, 
his  revolver  ready  cocked  in  his  hand. 

As  they  glided  thus,  following  their  own  footsteps,  and 
hunting  their  hunter  with  gloomy  brows  and  nerves  quiver- 
ing and  hearts  darkening  with  anger  and  bitterness,  sud- 
denly a  gloom  fell  upon  the  woods — it  darkened  and  dark- 
ened. Meantime  a  breeze  chill  as  ice  disturbed  its  tepid  and 
close  air,  forerunner  of  a  great  wind  which  was  soon  heard, 
first  moaning  in  the  distance,  then  howling  and  rushing  up, 

591 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

and  sweeping  over  the  tall  trees  and  rocking  them  Hke  so 
many  bulrushes,    A  great  storm  was  coming. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

THIS  very  afternoon  Mr.  Levi  came  to  inquire  for 
George  Fielding.  Unable  to  find  him,  he  asked  of 
several  diggers  where  the  young  man  was ;  he  could  get  no 
information  till  Jem  saw  him,  and  came  and  told  him. 

Now  when  he  heard  they  were  gone,  and  not  expected 
back  for  some  days,  Isaac  gave  quite  a  start,  and  showed  a 
degree  of  regret  and  vexation  that  Jem  was  puzzled  to  ac- 
count for. 

On  reflection  he  begged  Jem  to  come  to  his  tent ;  there  he 
sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter. 

"Young  man,"  said  he,  "I  do  entreat  you  to  give  this  to 
George  Fielding  the  moment  he  returns  to  the  camp.  Why 
did  he  go  without  coming  to  see  me?  My  old  heart  is  full 
of  misgivings." 

"You  needn't  have  any,  sir,"  said  Jem,  surprised  at  the 
depth  of  feeling  in  the  old  Jew's  face  and  voice.  "He  shall 
have  the  letter,  you  may  depend," 

Levi  thanked  him.  He  then  said  to  Nathan,  "Strike  the 
tents,  collect  our  party,  and  let  us  be  gone." 

"What,  going  to  leave  us,  sir?" 

"Yes,  young  man,  this  very  hour." 

"Well,  now,  I  am  sorry  for  that,  and  so  will  the  captain 
be  and  his  pal,  that  you  think  so  much  of." 

"We  shall  not  be  long  parted,"  said  the  old  man  in  his 
sweet  musical  Eastern  accent,  "not  very  long,  if  you  are 
faithful  to  your  trust  and  give  the  good  young  man  my 
letter.  May  good  angels  hover  round  him !  may  the  God 
of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob  guard  him !" 

"Amen !"  said  rough  Jem ;  for  the  reverend  face  glowed 
with  piety  and  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  prayer. 

Suddenly  an  unpleasant  reflection  occurred  to  Jem." 

"Well,  but  if  you  go,  who  is  to  buy  our  gold-dust?" 

"The  Christian  merchants,"  said  Isaac  with  an  indifferent 
air. 

592 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"But  they  are  such  Jews,"  cried  Jem  inadvertently. 

"I  mean — I  mean "  and  rough  as  he  was,  he  looked  as 

if  he  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  off. 

'T  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Isaac  sadly.  He  added, 
"Such  as  they  are,  they  are  all  you  have  now.  The  old 
Jew  was  hunted,  and  hooted,  and  insulted  in  this  place  yes- 
terday ;  here  then  he  trades  no  more ;  those  who  set  no  value 
on  him  can,  of  course,  supply  his  place." 

"The  blackguards !"  cried  Jem ;  "the  ruffians !  I  wish  I 
had  seen  them.  Come.  Mr.  Levi,  that  was  not  the  mine :  that 
was  only  the  riffraff — you  might  forgive  us  that." 

"I  never  forgive,"  was  the  calm  reply. 


CHAPTER    LXVIII. 

A  TREMENDOUS  snowstorm  fell  upon  the  mine  and 
drove  Jem  into  his  tent,  where  he  was  soon  after 
joined  by  Jacky,  a  circumstance  in  itself  sufficient  to  prove 
the  violence  of  the  storm,  for  Jacky  loathed  indoors ;  it 
choked  him  a  good  deal.  The  more  was  Jem  surprised  when 
he  heard  a  lamentable, howl  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
a  woman  burst  into  his  tent,  a  mere  pillar  of  snow,  for  she 
was  covered  with  a  thousand  flakes,  each  as  big  as  a  lady's 
hand. 

"Ochone !  ochone !  ochone !"  cried  Mary  M'Dogherty,  and 
on  being  asked  what  was  the  matter,  she  sat  down  and 
rocked  herself  and  moaned  and  cried,  "Ochone !  och,  captain 
avick.  what  will  I  do  for  you ;  and  who  will  I  find  to  save 
you?  an'  oh,  it  is  the  warm  heart  and  the  kind  heart  that  ye 
had  to  poor  Molly  M'Dogherty,  that  ud  give  her  life  to 
save  yours  this  day." 

"The  captain !"  cried  Jem  in  great  alarm.  "What  is  wrong 
with  the  captain?" 

"He  is  lying  cowld  and  stiff  in  the  dark,  bloody  wood. 
Och,  the  murthering  villains !  och,  what  will  I  do  at  all  ? 
Och.  captain  avick,  warm  was  your  heart  to  the  poor  Irish 
boys,  but  it  is  cowld  now.    Ochone  !  ochone  !" 

"Woman!"  cried  Jem  in  great  agitation,  "leave  off  blub- 
bering, and  tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

593 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Thus  blandly  interrogated,  Mary  told  him  a  story  (often 
interrupted  with  tears  and  sighs)  of  what  had  been  heard  and 
seen  yester-eve  by  one  of  the  Irish  boys,  a  story  that  turned 
him  cold,  for  it  left  on  him  the  same  impression  it  had  left 
on  the  warm-hearted  Irish  woman,  that  at  this  moment  his 
good  friend  was  lying  dead  in  the  bush  hard  by. 

He  rose  and  loaded  Robinson's  double-barrelled  gun ;  he 
loaded  it  with  bullets,  and  as  he  rammed  them  fiercely  down, 
he  said  angrily,  "Leave  off  crying  and  wringing  your  hands ; 
what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  that?  Here  goes  to  save  him  or 
to  revenge  him." 

"An'  och,  James,  take  the  wild  Ingine  wid  ye;  they  know 
them  bloody  murthering  woods  better  than  our  boys,  glory 
be  to  God  for  taching  them  that  same." 

"Of  course  I  shall  take  him.  You  hear,  Jacky !  will  you 
show  me  how  to  find  the  poor  dear  captain  and  his  mate,  if 
they  are  in  life?" 

"If  they  are  alive,  Jacky  will  find  them  a  good  deal  soon 
— if  they  are  dead,  still  Jacky  will  find  them." 

The  Irishwoman's  sorrow  burst  out  afresh  at  these  words. 
The  savage  then  admitted  the  probability  of  that  she  dreaded. 

"And  their  enemies — the  cowardly  villains — what  will  you 
do  to  them  ?"  asked  Jem,  black  with  rage. 

Jacky's  answer  made  Mary  scream  with  afifright,  and 
startled  even  Jem's  iron  nerves  for  a  moment.  At  the  very 
first  word  of  the  Irishwoman's  story  the  savage  had  seated 
himself  on  the  ground  with  his  back  turned  to  the  others, 
and,  unnoticed  by  them,  had  rapidly  painted  his  face  with 
the  war-paint  of  his  tribe.  Words  cannot  describe  the  ghastly 
terrors,  the  fiendish  ferocity,  these  traditional  lines  and 
colours  gave  his  countenance.  This  creature,  that  looked  so 
like  a  fiend,  came  erect  into  the  middle  of  the  tent  with  a 
single  bound,  as  if  that  moment  vomited  forth  by  hell,  and 
yet  with  a  grander  carriage  and  princelier  presence  than  he 
had  worn  in  time  of  peace ;  and  even  as  he  bounded  he  crossed 
his  tomahawk  and  narrow  wooden  shield,  to  signify  that  his 
answer  was  no  vulgar  asseveration,  but  a  vow  of  sacred  war. 

"Kalingalunga    will    kill    them    and    drink    their 

BLOOD." 

Kalingaliinga  glided   from  the  tent.     Jem  followed  him. 

594 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  snow  fell  in  flakes  as  large  as  a  lady's  hand,  and  the  air 
was  dark.  Jem  could  not  see  where  the  hunter  was  taking 
him,  but  he  strode  after  him  and  trusted  to  his  sagacity. 

Five  hours'  hard  walking  and  then  the  snow  left  off.  The 
air  became  clear,  and  to  Jem's  surprise  the  bush,  instead  of 
being  on  his  right  hand,  was  now  on  his  left,  and  there  on 
its  skirts  about  a  mile  off  was  a  native  camp.  They  had 
hardly  come  in  sight  of  it  when  it  was  seen  to  break  from 
quietude  into  extraordinary  bustle. 

"What  is  up?"  asked  Jem. 

The  hunter  smiled  and  pointed  to  his  own  face — 

"Kalingalunga  painted  war." 

"What  eyes  the  beggars  must  have !"  said  Jem. 

The  next  minute  a  score  of  black  figures  came  tearing  up 
in  such  excitement  that  their  long  rows  of  white  teeth  and 
the  whites  of  their  eyes  flashed  like  bude-lights  in  their  black 
heads. 

Kalingalunga  soon  calmed  them  down  by  letting  them  know 
that  he  was  painted  for  a  private,  not  a  national  feud.  He 
gave  them  no  further  information.  I  suspect  he  was  too 
keen  a  sportsman  to  put  others  on  the  scent  of  his  game.  He 
went  all  through  the  camp,  and  ascertained  from  the  strag- 
glers that  no  men  answering  the  description  of  George  and 
Robinson  had  passed  out  of  the  wood. 

"They  are  in  the  wood,"  said  he. 

He  then  ordered  a  great  fire — bade  Jem  dry  his  clothes  and 
eat ;  he  collected  tw^o  of  his  wives  and  committed  Jem  to 
their  care,  and  glided  like  a  panther  into  the  wood. 

What  with  the  great  heat  succeeding  to  the  great  cold,  and 
the  great  supper  the  gins  gave  him,  Jem  fell  fast  asleep.  It 
was  near  daylight  when  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and 
there  was  Kalingalunga. 

"Not  a  track  on  the  snow !" 

"No?  then  let  us  hope  they  are  not  in  the  wood."  The 
hunter  hung  his  head. 

"Me  think  they  are  in  the  wood,"  said  he  gravely. 

Jem  groaned.  "Then  they  are  lying  under  the  soil  of  it 
or  in  some  dark  pit." 

Kalingaltinga  reflected ;  he  replied  to  this  effect — "That 
there  were  no  more  traces  of  an  assassin  than  of  victims,  con- 

595 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   ^END 

sequently  that  it  was  impossible  to  know  anything,  and  that  it 
was  a  good  deal  too  stupid  to  speak  a  good  deal  knowing 
nothing." 

All  this  time  Jem's  fear  and  rage  and  impatience  contrasted 
greatly  with  the  philosophic  phlegm  of  the  Pict,  who  looked 
so  fierce  and  took  it  all  so  cool,  ending  with  an  announcement 
that  now  Kalingalunga  would  sleep  a  good  deal. 

The  chief  was  soon  asleep,  but  not  till  he  had  ordered  his 
gins  to  wake  him  the  moment  the  snow  should  be  melted. 
This  occurred  at  noon,  and  after  snatching  a  hasty  meal  he 
put  a  tomahawk  into  Jem's  hands  and  darted  into  the  bush. 

All  the  savage's  coldness  disappeared  now  he  was  at  work. 
He  took  Jem  right  across  the  wood  from  south-east  to  north- 
west. Nothing  stopped  him.  When  the  scrub  was  thick 
above  but  hollow  below,  he  threw  himself  on  his  belly  and 
wriggled  along  like  a  snake.  When  it  was  all  thick,  he  hacked 
into  it  with  fury  and  forced  a  path.  When  it  was  impene- 
trable, he  went  round  it,  and  by  some  wonderful  instinct  got 
into  the  same  line  again.  Thus  they  cut  clean  across  the 
wood,  but  found  no  tracks.  Then  the  savage  being  out  in 
the  open  trotted  easily  down  the  wood-side  to  the  south-west 
point — here  he  entered,  and  took  a  line  straight  as  an  arrow 
to  the  north-east. 

It  was  about  five  in  the  afternoon.  Kalingalunga  was 
bleeding  all  over  with  scratches,  and  Jem  was  torn  to  pieces 
and  done  up.  He  was  just  about  to  tell  the  other  that  he 
must  give  in,  when  Kalingalunga  suddenly  stopped  and 
pointed  to  the  ground — "Track  !" 

"What  of?" — "A  white  man's  shoe." 

"How  many  are  there?" — "One." 

Jem  sighed.    "I  doubt  it  is  a  bad  job,  Jacky,"  said  he. 

"Follow — not  too  close,"  was  the  low  reply. 

And  the  panther  became  a  serpent,  so  smooth  and  undu- 
lating were  the  motions  with  which  he  glided  upon  the  track 
he  had  now  discovered. 

Jem,  well  aware  that  he  could  not  move  noiselessly  like 
the  savage,  obeyed  him  and  crept  after  at  some  distance. 

The  savage  had  followed  the  man's  footsteps  about  half 
a  mile,  and  the  white  man  the  savage,  when  suddenly  both 
were  diverted  from  their  purpose.     Kalingalunga  stood  still 

596 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

and  beckoned  Jem.  Jem  ran  to  him,  and  found  him  standing- 
snuffing  the  air  with  his  great  broad  nostrils  like  a  stag. 

"What  is  it  ?" 

"White  fellow  burn  wambiloa  wood." 

"How  d'ye  know?  how  d'ye  know?" 

"Wambiloa  wood  smell  a  good  wav  off  when  him 
burn." 

"And  how  do  you  know  it  is  a  white  man  ?" 

"Black  fellow  never  burn  wambiloa  wood ;  not  good  to 
burn  that.     Keep  it  for  milmeridien." 

The  chief  now  cut  off  a  few  of  his  long  hairs  and  held  them 
up  to  ascertain  the  exact  direction  of  the  wind.  This  done, 
he  barked  a  tree  to  mark  the  spot  to  which  he  had  followed 
tlie  trail,  and  striking  out  into  quite  a  different  direction,  he 
hunted  by  scent. 

Jem  expected  to  come  on  the  burning  wambiloa  very  soon, 
but  he  underrated  either  the  savage's  keen  scent  or  the  acrid 
odour  of  the  sacred  wood — perhaps  both.  They  had  gone 
half  a  mile  at  least  before  his  companion  thought  it  necessary 
to  show  any  precaution.  At  last  he  stopped  short,  and  then 
Jem  smelled  a  smell  as  if  "cinnamon  and  ginger,  nutmegs 
and  cloves"  were  all  blazing  in  one  bonfire.  With  some 
difficulty  he  was  prevailed  on  to  stand  still  and  let  the  subtle 
native  creep  on,  nor  would  he  consent  to  be  inactive  until  the 
other  solemnly  vowed  to  come  back  for  him  and  give  him 
his  full  share  of  the  fighting.  Then  Kalingalunga  went  glid- 
ing like  a  shadow  and  flitted  from  tree  to  tree. 

Woe  be  to  the  enemy  the  subtle,  noiseless,  pitiless,  re- 
morseless savage  surprises ;  he  has  not  put  on  his  war-paint 
in  sport  or  for  barren  show. 


CHAPTER   LXIX. 

A  MAN  was  hunting  Robinson  and  George  Fielding,  and 
they  were  hunting  him ;  both  parties  inflamed  with 
rage  and  bitterness ;  both  master  of  the  other's  fate,  they 
thought. 

A  change  of  wind  brou2;-ht  a  fall  of  snow,  and  the  fall  of 

597 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

snow  baffled  both  parties  in  five  minutes.  Down  came  the 
AustraHan  flakes  large  as  a  woman's  hand  (I  am  not  romanc- 
ing), and  effaced  the  tracks  of  the  pursuing  and  pursued 
and  pursuers.  So  tremendous  was  the  fall  that  the  two 
friends  thought  of  nothing  but  shelter.  They  threw  their 
blankets  over  their  heads  and  ran  hither  and  thither  looking 
for  a  friendly  tree.  At  last  they  found  an  old  tree  with  a 
prodigious  stem  that  parted  about  ten  feet  up  into  two  forks. 
With  some  effort  they  got  up  into  this  cleft,  and  then  they 
were  on  a  natural  platform.  Robinson  always  carried  nails 
in  his  pocket,  and  he  contrived  to  nail  the  two  blankets 
to  the  forks  so  as  to  make  a  screen.  They  then  took  out 
their  provisions  and  fortified  themselves  with  a  hearty 
supper. 

As  they  were  eating  it,  they  were  suddenly  startled  by  an 
explosion  so  tremendous  that  their  tree  seemed  to  have  been 
struck  by  lightning.  Out  went  Robinson  with  his  mouth 
full  on  a  snow  drift  four  feet  high.  He  looked  up  and  saw 
the  cause  of  the  fracas.  A  large  bough  of  a  neighbouring 
tree  had  parted  from  the  trunk  with  the  enormous  weight 
of  the  snow.  Robinson  climbed  back  to  George  and  told 
him.  Supper  recommenced,  but  all  over  the  woods  at  inter- 
vals they  now  heard  huge  forks  and  boughs  parting  from 
their  parent  stems  with  a  report  like  a  thirty-two  pounder 
ringing  and  echoing  through  the  woods ;  others  so  distant 
that  they  were  like  crackers. 

These  sounds  were  very  appalling  in  the  ghostly  wood. 
The  men  instinctively  drew  closer  to  each  other,  but  they 
were  no  chickens ;  use  soon  hardened  them  even  to  this. 
They  settled  it  that  the  forks  they  were  sitting  on  would 
not  give  way,  because  there  were  no  leaves  on  them  to  hold 
a  great  burden  of  snow,  and  soon  they  yielded  to  nature  and 
fell  fast  asleep  in  spite  of  all  the  dangers  that  hemmed 
them. 

At  his  regular  hour,  just  before  sunrise,  Robinson 
awoke  and  peeped  from  below  the  blanket.  He  shook 
George. 

"Get  up  directly,  George.  We  are  wasting  time  when 
time  is  gold."— "What  is  it?" 

"What  is  it !     There  is  a  pilot  in  the  sky  that  will  take  us 
•     598 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

out  of  this  cursed  trap  if  the  day  does  not  come  and  spoil 
all." 

George's  eye  followed  Robinson's  finger,  and  in  the  centre 
of  the  dark  vault  of  heaven  this  glittered : — 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

"T  KNOW  it,  Tom.  When  I  was  sailing  to  this  country, 
-■-  we  came  to  a  part  where  the  north  star  went  down  and 
down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  this  was  all  we  got  in  exchange 
for  it." 

"George,"  said  Tom  rather  sternly,  "how  do  you  know 
they  don't  hear  us,  and  here  we  are  surrounded  by  enemies, 
and  would  you  run  down  our  only  friend?  That  silver  star 
will  save  our  lives,  if  they  are  to  be  saved  at  all.  Come  on  : 
and  George,  if  you  were  to  take  your  revolver  and  blow  out 

599 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

my  brains,  it  is  no  more  than  I  deserve  for  sleeping  away 
the  precious  hours  of  night,  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
steering  out  of  this  cursed  timber-net  by  that  blessed  star." 

With  these  words  Robinson  dived  into  the  wood,  steering 
due  east  by  the  Southern  Cross.  It  was  Hke  going  through 
a  frozen  river.  The  scrub  was  loaded  with  snow,  which  it 
discharged  in  masses  on  the  travellers  at  every  step. 

"Keep  your  revolver  dry  in  your  hat,  and  your  lucifers 
too,"  cried  Robinson.  "We  shall  have  to  use  them  both, 
ten  to  one.    As  to  our  skins,  that  is  hopeless." 

Then  the  men  found  how  hard  it  is  to  take  a  line  and 
keep  it  in  the  Australian  bush.  When  the  Southern  Cross 
was  lost  in  a  cloud,  though  but  for  a  minute,  they  were  sure 
to  go  all  wrong,  as  they  found  upon  its  reappearance ;  and 
sometimes  the  scrub  was  impenetrable,  and  they  were  forced 
to  go  round  it  and  walk  four  hundred  yards,  advancing  east- 
ward but  twenty  or  thirty.  Thus  they  battled  on  till  the  sun 
rose. 

"Now  we  shall  be  all  in  the  dark  again,"  said  poor  Robin- 
son ;  "here  comes  a  fog." 

"Stop,  Tom,"  said  George ;  "oughtn't  we  to  make  this  good 
before  we  go  on?" — "What  do  you  mean?" 

"We  have  come  right  by  the  star  so  far,  have  we  not?" 
—"Yes." 

"Then  let  us  bark  fifty  of  these  trees  for  a  mark.  I  have 
seen  that  varmint  Jacky  do  that." 

"A  capital  idea,  George ;  out  with  our  knives — here  goes !" 
"No  breakfast  to-day,  Tom." 

"No,  George,  nor  dinner  either  till  we  are  out  of  the 
wood." 

These,  two  poor  fellows  walked,  and  ran,  and  crept,  and 
struggled  all  day,  sometimes  hoping,  sometimes  desponding. 
At  last,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  their  bellies  gnawed 
with  hunger,  their  clothes  torn  to  rags,  their  skin  bleeding, 
they  came  out  upon  some  trees  with  the  bark  stripped.  They 
gave  one  another  a  look  that  words  can  hardly  paint.  They 
were  the  trees  they  had  barked  twelve  hours  ago ! 

The  men  stood  silent — neither  cared  to  tell  the  other  all 
he  felt — for  now  there  crept  over  these  two  stout  bosoms  a 
terrible  chill,  the  sense  of  a  danger  new  to  them  in  experi- 

600 


i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ence,  but  not  new  in  report.  They  had  heard  of  settlers  and 
others  who  had  been  lost  in  the  fatal  labyrinth  of  the  Aus- 
tralian bush,  and  now  they  saw  how  easily  it  might  be  true. 

"We  may  as  well  sit  down  here  and  rest :  we  shall  do  no 
good  till  night.    What,  are  you  in  pain,  George?" 

"Yes,  Tom,  a  little." 

"Where?" — "Something  gnaws  my  stomach  like  an  adder." 

"Oh,  that  is  the  soldier's  gripes,"  said  Tom,  with  a  ghastly 
attempt  at  a  jest.  "Poor  Gf^^orge !"  said  he  kindly,  "I  dare- 
say you  never  knew  what  it  was  to  go  twenty-four  hours 
without  food  before." 

"Never  in  my  life,  Tom." 

"Well,  I  have,  and  I'll  tell  you  the  only  thing  to  do :  when 
you  can't  fill  the  bread-basket — shut  it.  Go  to  sleep  till  the 
Southern  Cross  comes  out  again." 

"What,  sleep  in  our  dripping  clothes?" 

"No,  we  will  make  a  roaring  fire  with  these  strips  of 
bark;  they  are  dry  as  tinder  by  now." 

A  pyre  four  feet  high  was  raised,  the  strips  being  laid  from 
north  to  south  and  east  to  west  alternately,  and  they  dried 
their  blankets  and  warmed  their  smoking  bodies. 

"George,  I  have  got  two  cigars ;  they  must  last  us  two 
days." 

"Oh,  I'm  no  great  smoker — keep  them  for  your  own  com- 
fort." 

Robinson  wore  a  sad  smile. 

"We  can't  afford  to  smoke  them ;  this  is  to  chew ;  it  is  not 
food,  George,  but  it  keeps  the  stomach  from  eating  itself.  We 
must  do  the  best  for  our  lives  we  can  for  Susan's  sake." 

"Give  it  me,  Tom ;  I'll  chew  it,  and  thank  you  kindly. 
You  are  a  wise  companion  in  adversity,  Tom ;  it  is  a  great 
grief  to  me  that  I  have  brought  you  into  this  trouble,  looking 
for  what  I  know  you  think  is  a  mare's  nest,  as  the  saying 
is." 

"Don't  talk  so,  George.  True  pals  like  you  and  me  never 
reproach  one  another;  they  stand  and  fall  together  like  men. 
The  fire  is  warm,  George,  that  is  one  comfort." 

"The  fire  is  well  enough,  but  there's  nothing  down  at  it. 
I'd  give  a  hundred  pounds  for  a  mutton-chop."  „  ,- 

The  friends  sat  like  sacrifices  by  the  fire  and  chewed, Hit^  ooO^^^ 


60 1 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

cigars  in  silence  with  foreboding  hearts.  After  a  while,  as 
the  heat  laid  hold  of  him,  George  began  to  dose.  Robinson 
felt  inclined  to  do  the  same;  but  the  sense  that  perhaps  a 
human  enemy  might  be  near  caused  him  to  fight  against  sleep 
in  this  exposed  locality;  so  whenever  his  head  bobbed  down, 
he  lifted  it  sharply  and  forced  his  eyes  open.  It  was  on  one 
of  these  occasions  that,  looking  up,  he  saw  set  as  it  were  in 
a  frame  of  leaves  a  hideous  countenance  glaring  at  him ; 
it  was  painted  in  circular  lines,  red,  blue,  and  white. 

"Get  up,  George,"  roared  Robinson ;  "they  are  upon  us !" 
And  both  men  were  on  their  feet,  revolvers  pointed.  The 
leaves  parted,  and  out  came  this  diabolical  face,  which  they 
had  never  seen  before,  but  with  it  a  figure  they  seemed  to 
know  and  a  harsh  cackle  they  instantly  recognised,  and  it 
sounded  like  music  to  them. 

''Oh,  my  dear  Jacky,"  cried  George,  "who'd  have  thought 
it  was  you?  Well,  you  are  a  godsend!  Good  afternoon! 
Oh,  Jacky!  how  d'ye  do?" 

"Jacky  not  Jacky  now,  cos  'um  a  good  deal  angry  and 
paint  war.  Kalingalunga  berywelltanku'  (he  always  took 
these  four  words  for  one).  Now  I  go  fetch  white  fellow;" 
and  he  disappeared. 

"Who  is  he  going  to  fetch?  Is  it  the  one  that  was  fol- 
lowing us?" 

"No  doubt.    Then,  Tom,  it  was  not  an  enemy  after  all?" 

Jacky  came  back  with  Jem,  who,  at  sight  of  them  alive  and 
well,  burst  into  extravagances.  He  waved  his  hat  round 
his  head  several  times  and  then  flung  it  into  a  tree ;  then 
danced  a  pas  scul  consisting  of  steps  not  one  of  them  known 
at  the  opera-house,  and  chanted  a  song  of  triumph  the  words 
of  which  were  Ri  tol  de  riddy  iddy  dol,  and  the  ditty  naught ; 
finally,  he  shook  hands  with  both. 

"Never  say  die !" 

"Well,  that  is  hearty !  and  how  thoughtful  of  him  to  come 
after  us,  and  above  all,  to  bring  Jacky !" 

"That  it  was,"  replied  George.  "Jem,"  said  he  with  feel- 
ing, "I  don't  know  but  what  you  have  saved  two  men's  lives." 

"If  I  don't,  it  shan't  be  my  fault,  farmer." 

George. — Oh,  Jacky,  I  am  so  hungry !  I  have  been  twenty- 
four  hours  without  food. 

602 


f 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Kalingalunga. — You  stupid  fellow  to  go  without  food ; 
always  a  good  deal  food  in  bush. 

George. — Is  there?  Then  for  Heaven's  sake  go  and  get 
us  some  of  it, 

Kalingalunga. —  No  need  go ;  food  here. 

He  stepped  up  to  the  very  tree  against  which  George  was 
standing,  showed  him  an  excrescence  on  the  bark,  made  two 
clean  cuts  with  his  tomahawk,  pulled  out  a  huge  white  worm 
and  offered  it  George.  George  turned  from  it  in  disgust ;  the 
wild  chief  grinned  superior  and  ate  it  himself,  and  smacked 
his  lips  with  infinite  gusto. 

Meantime  his  quick  eye  had  caught  sight  of  something  else. 
"A  good  deal  dinner  in  dis  tree,"  said  he,  and  he  made  the 
white  men  observe  some  slight  scratches  on  the  bark.  "Pos- 
sum claws  go  up  tree."  Then  he  showed  them  that  there 
were  no  marks  with  the  claw  reversed,  a  clear  proof  the 
animal  had  not  come  down.     "Possum  in  tree." 

The  white  men  looked  up  into  the  bare  tree  with  a  mix- 
ture of  wonder  and  incredulity.  Jacky  cut  steps  with  his 
tomahawk  and  went  up  the  main  stem,  which  was  short, 
and  then  up  a  fork,  one  out  of  about  twelve ;  among  all  these 
he  jumped  about  like  a  monkey  till  he  found  one  that  was 
hollow  at  the  top. 

"Throw  Kalingalunga  a  stone,  den  he  find  possum  a  good 
deal  quick." 

They  could  not  find  a  stone  for  their  lives,  so  being  hungry, 
Robinson  threw  a  small  nugget  of  gold  he  had  in  his  pocket. 
Jacky  caught  it,  placed  it  at  the  top  of  the  hollow  fork  and 
let  it  drop.  Listening  keenly,  his  fine  ear  heard  the  nugget 
go  down  the  fork,  striking  the  wood  first  one  side  then  an- 
other, and  then  at  a  certain  part  sound  no  more.  Down  he 
slips  to  that  silent  part,  makes  a  deep  cut  with  his  toma- 
hawk just  above  the  spot,  thrusts  in  his  hand  and  pulls  out 
a  large  opossum,  yelling  and  scratching  and  emitting  a  de- 
licious scent  in  an  agony  of  fear.  The  tomahawk  soon 
silenced  him,  and  the  carcass  fell  among  the  applauding 
whites.  Now  it  was  Robinson's  turn ;  he  carved  the  raw 
animal  for  greater  expedition,  and  George  helped  him  to 
wrap  each  limb  and  carcass  in  a  thin  covering  of  clay.  Thus 
prepared,  it  was  thrust  into  the  great  pile  of  burning  ashes. 

603 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Look  yonder,  do !  look  at  that,  Jem !  Why,  Jem,  what 
are  you  up  to,  patrolling  like  a  sentinel  out  there?" 

"Never  you  heed  Jem,"  was  the  dry  reply ;  "you  mind  the 
roast,  captain,  and  I'll  mind — my  business,"  and  Jem  con- 
tinued to  parade  up  and  down,  with  his  gun  cocked  and  his 
eye  piercing  the  wood. 

To  Robinson's  repeated  and  uneasy  inquiries  what  meant 
this  pantomime,  Jem  persisted  in  returning  no  answer  but 
this,  "You  want  your  dinner,  captain :  eat  your  dinner  and 
then  I'll  hoffer  a  hobservation ;  meantime,  as  these  woods  are 
queer  places,  a  little  hextra  caution  is  no  sin." 

The  pie-dishes  were  now  drawn  out  of  the  ashes  and 
broken,  and  the  meat  baked  with  all  its  juices  was  greedily 
devoured. 

"It  tastes  like  a  rabbit  stuffed  with  peppermint,"  said 
George,  "and  uncommon  nice  it  is.  Now  I  am  another 
man." 

"So  am  I ;  Jacky  for  ever !" 

"Now,  Jem,  I  have  dined :  your  story  if  you  please.  Why 
are  you  here?  for. you  are  a  good  fellow,  but  you  haven't  got 
gumption  enough  to  say  to  yourself,  'These  two  will  get  lost 
in  the  bush ;  I'll  take  Jacky  and  pull  them  out.'  " 

"You  are  right,  captain ;  that  wasn't  the  way  at  all ;  and 
since  your  belly  is  full  and  your  courage  up,  you  will  be  able 
to  enjoy  my  story  better  than  you  could  afore." 

"Yes,  so  let  us  have  it ;"  and  Robinson  leaned  back  luxuri- 
ously, being  filled  and  warmed. 

"First  and  foremost,"  commenced  this  artful  narrator, 
"there  is  a  chap  prowling  in  this  wood  at  the  present  time 
with  a  double-barrelled  gun  to  blow  out  your  brains,  cap- 
tain." 

"The  devil !"  cried  Robinson,  starting  to  his  feet, 

"And  yours,  farmer."  ^ 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  George  without  moving. 

"That  is  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  That  Mary 
M'Dogherty  came  crying  to  my  tent  all  through  the  snow. 
'What  is  up?'  says  I;  says  she,  'Murder  is  up.'  Then  she  told 
me  her  cousin,  an  Irish  boy,  was  at  Bevan's  store  and  he 
heard  some  queer  talk,  and  he  looked  through  a  chink  in  the 
wall  and  saw  two  rascals  putting  their  heads  together,  and 

604 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

he  soon  made  out  they  were  driving  a  bargain  to  rob  you  two. 
One  was  to  do  it,  the  other  was  a  egging  him  on.  'I  must 
have  fifty  pounds  first,'  says  this  one.  'Why  ?'  says  the  other. 
'Because  he  has  been  and  locked  my  pal  up  that  was  to  be 
in  it  with  me.'  " 

"Ah !"  cried  Robinson.  "Go  on,  Jem ;  there  is  a  clue,  any 
way." 

"I  have  got  a  thicker  one  behind.  Says  the  other,  'Agreed ! 
when  will  you  have  it  ?'  'Why,  now,'  says  t'other.  Then  this 
one  gave  him  a  note.  Pat  couldn't  say  that  it  was  a  fifty, 
but  no  doubt  it  was,  but  he  saw  the  man  take  it  and  put  it 
in  a  little  tin  box  and  shove  it  in  his  bosom." 

"That  note  was  the  price  of  blood,"  said  Robinson.  "Oh, 
the  black-hearted  villains.  Tell  me  who  they  were,  that  is 
all ;  tell  me  but  who  they  were !" 

"The  boy  didn't  know." 

"There !  it  is  always  so.    The  fools  !  they  never  know." 

"Stop  a  bit,  captain ;  there  is  a  clue — your  own  word." 

"Ay!  and  what  is  the  clue?" 

"As  soon  as  ever  the  note  was  safe  in  his  bosom  he  says, 
'I  sold  you,  blind  mate ;  I'd  have  given  fifty  sooner  than  not 
done  this  job.  Look  here !'  says  he,  'I  have  sworn  to  have 
a  life  for  each  of  these ;'  and,  captain,"  said  Jem,  suddenly 
lowering  his  voice,  "with  that  it  seems  he  held  up  his  right 
hand." 

"Well,  yes!  yes!  eh?" 

"And  there  were  two  fingers  amissing  on  it." — "Ah !" 

"Now  those  two  fingers  are  the  ones  you  chopped  off  with 
}K)ur  cutlass  the  night  when  the  tent  was  attacked." 

"Why,  Tom,  what  is  this?  You  never  told  me  of  this," 
cried  George. 

"And  which  are  in  my  pocket." 

"In  your  pocket,"  said  George,  drawing  away  from  him. 

"Ay,  farmer !  wrapped  up  in  silver  paper,  and  they  shall 
never  leave  my  pocket  till  I  have  fitted  them  on  the  man,  and 
seen  him  hung  or  shot  with  them  two  pickers  and  stealers 
tied  round  his  bloodthirsty,  merciless,  aass-aassinating  neck; 
say  that  I  said  it." 

George. — Jacky,  show  us  the  way  out  of  this  wood. 

Kalingalunga  bowed  assent,  but  he  expressed  a  wish  to 

605 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


I 


take  with  him  some  of  the  ashes  of  the  wambiloa.     George 
helped  him. 

Robinson  drew  Jem  aside.  "You  shouldn't  have  mentioned 
that  before  George;  you  have  disgusted  him  properly." 

"Oh,  hang  him!  he  needn't  be  so  squeamish;  why,  I've 
had  'em  salt " 

"There,  there !  drop  it,  Jem,  do !" 

"Captain !  are  you  going  to  let  them  take  us  out  of  the 
wood  before  we  have  hunted  it  for  that  scoundrel?" 

"Yes,  I  am.  Look  here,  Jem,  we  are  four  and  he  is  one, 
but  a  double-barrelled  gun  is  an  awkward  enemy  in  a  dark 
wood.  No,  Jem,  we  will  outwit  him  to  the  last.  We  will 
clear  the  wood  and  get  back  to  the  camp.  He  doesn't  know 
we  have  got  a  clue  to  him.  He  will  come  back  without  fear, 
and  we  will  nail  him  with  the  fifty-pound  note  upon  him; 
and  then — Jack  Ketch." 

The  whole  party  was  on  the  move,  led  by  Kalingaliinga 
bearing  the  sacred  ashes.  ■ 

"What  on  earth  is  he  going  to  do  with  them  ?"  ■ 

The  chief  heard  this  query,  and  looking  back  said  gravely, 
"He  take  them  to  'Milmeridien,'  "  and  the  party  followed 
Jacky,  who  twisted  and  zigzagged  about  the  bush,  till  at  last 
he  brought  them  to  a  fairy  spot,  whose  existence  in  that 
rugged  wood  none  of  them  had  dreamed  possible.  It  was 
a  long  open  glade,  meandering  like  a  river  between  two  deep 
irregular  fringes  of  the  drooping  acacia,  and  another  lovely 
tree  which  I  only  know  by  its  uncouth,  unmelodious,  scien- 
tiuncular  name — the  eucalyptus.  This  tree  as  well  as  the 
drooping  acacia  leaned  over  the  ground  with  long  leaves  like 
dishevelled  hair. 

Kalingalunga  paused  at  the  briiik  and  said  to  his  com- 
panions in  a  low  awe-struck  voice — "Milmeridien." 

The  glade  was  full  of  graves,  some  of  them  fresh,  glitter- 
ing with  bright  red  earth  under  the  cool  green  acacias,  others 
richly  veiled  with  golden  moss  more  or  less  according  to  their 
ago;  and  in  the  recesses  of  the  grove  peeped  smbother  traces 
of  mortality,  mossy  mounds  a  thousand  years  old,  and  others 
far  more  ancient  still,  now  mere  excrescences  of  green, 
known  to  be  graves  only  by  the  light  of  that  immense  grada- 
tion of  times  and  dates  and  epochs. 

606 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

The  floor  of  the  open  glade  was  laid  out  as  a  vast  par- 
terre, each  grave  a  little  flower-bed,  round,  square,  oval,  or 
rhomboid,  and  all  round  each  bed  flowed  in  fine  and  grace- 
ful curves  little  paths  too  narrow  for  a  human  foot.  Prime- 
val tradition  had  placed  them  there  that  spirits  might  have 
free  passage  to  visit  all  the  mighty  dead.  For  here  reposed 
no  vulgar  corpses.  Here,  their  heads  near  the  surface,  but 
their  feet  deep  in  earth,  sat  the  great  hunters  and  warriors 
of  every  age  of  the  race  of  Kalingalunga,  once  a  great  na- 
tion, though  now  a  failing  tribe.  They  sat  there  this  many 
a  day,  their  weapons  in  their  hands,  ready  to  start  up  when- 
ever the  great  signal  should  come,  and  hunt  once  more, 
but  without  fatigue,  in  woods  boundless  as  the  sea.  and 
with  bodily  frames  no  longer  mortal  to  knock  and  be 
knocked  on  the  head  ad  infinitum.  Simple  and  benign 
creed ! 

A  cry  of  delight  burst  from  the  white  men,  and  they  were 
going  to  spread  themselves  over  the  garden  of  the  dead.  The 
savage  checked  them  with  horror. 

"Nobody  walked  there  while  him  alive,"  said  he.  "Now 
you  follow  me  and  not  speak  any  words  at  all,  or  Kalinga- 
lunga will  leave  you  in  the  bush.    Hush !" 

The  savage  paused,  that  even  the  echo  of  his  remonstrance 
might  die  well  away  before  he  traversed  the  garden.  He 
then  bowed  his  head  down  upon  his  breast  in  a  set  manner, 
and  so  remained  quiet  a  few  seconds.  In  that  same  atti- 
tude he  started  and  walked  slowly  by  the  verge  of  the  glade, 
keeping  carefully  clear  of  the  graves,  and  never  raising  his 
head.  About  half-way  he  stopped  and  reverently  scattered 
the  ashes  of  the  wambiloa  upon  three  graves  that  lay  near 
the  edge,  then  forward — silent,  downcast,  reverential. 

"Mors  omnibus  est  communis!"  The  white  men,  even 
down  to  Jem,  understood  and  sympathised  with  Kalinga- 
liinga.  In  this  garden  of  the  dead  of  all  ages  they  felt  their 
common  humanity,  and  followed  their  black  brother  silent 
and  awestruck,  melted  too  by  the  sweet  and  sacred  sorrow 
of  this  calm  scene ;  for  here  Death  seemed  to  relax  his  crown, 
and  the  dead  but  to  rest  from  trouble  and  toil,  mourned  by 
gentle  tender  trees ;  and  in  truth  it  was  a  beautiful  thought 
of  those   savage  men  to   have   given   their  dead   for  com- 

607 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

panions  those  rare  and  drooping  acacias,  that  bowed  them- 
selves and  loosed  their  hair  so  like  fair  women  abandoned 
to  sorrow  over  the  beloved  and  dead,  and  night  and  morning 
swept  with  their  dewy  eyelashes  the  pillows  of  the  brave. 
Requiescat  in  pace! — resurgant  in  paccm!  For  I  wish  them 
better  than  they  wished  themselves. 

After  Milmeridien  came  a  thick  scrub,  through  which  Ka- 
lingalunga  tracked  his  way,  and  then  a  loud  hurrah  burst 
from  all,  for  they  were  free — the  net  was  broken.  There 
were  the  mountains  before  them  and  the  gaunt  wood  behind 
them  at  last.  The  native  camp  was  visible  two  miles  dis- 
tant, and  thither  the  party  ran,  and  found  food  and  fire  in 
abundance.  Black  sentinels  were  set  at  such  distances  as  to 
render  a  surprise  impossible,  and  the  travellers  were  invited 
to  sleep  and  forget  all  their  troubles.  Robinson  and  Jem 
did  sleep,  and  George  would  have  been  glad  to,  and  tried, 
but  was  prevented  by  an  unfortunate  incident.  Les  enfans 
terribles  found  out  his  infirmity,  viz.,  that  nothing  they  could 
do  would  make  him  hit  them.  So  half-a-dozen  little  rascals, 
potter-bellied  than  you  can  conceive,  climbed  up  and  down 
George,  sticking  in  their  twenty  claws  like  squirrels,  and 
feeling  like  cold  slippery  slugs.  Thus  was  sleep  averted,  until 
a  merciful  gin,  hearing  the  man's  groans,  came  and  cracked 
two  or  three  of  these  jack-pots  with  a  waddie  or  club,  so  then 
George  got  leave  to  sleep;  and  just  as  he  was  dozing  oflF, 
ting,  tong,  ti  tong,  tong  tong,  came  a  fearful  drumming  of 
parchment.  A  corroboree  or  native  dance  was  beginning. 
No  more  sleep  till  that  was  over — so  all  hands  turned  out. 
A  space  was  cleared  in  the  woods,  women  stood  on  both  sides 
with  flaming  boughs  and  threw  a  bright  red  light  upon  a  par- 
ticular portion  of  that  space ;  the  rest  was  dark  as  pitch. 
Time,  midnight.  When  the  white  men  came  up,  the  dancing 
had  not  began.  Kalingaliinga  was  singing  a  preliminary  war- 
song. 

George  had  picked  up  some  of  the  native  language,  and 
he  explained  to  the  others  that  Jacky  was  singing  about 
some  great  battle  near  the  Wurra-Gurra  River. 

"The  Wurra-Gurra !  why,  that  is  where  we  first  found 
gold." 

"Why,  of  course  it  is !  and — yes  !  I  thought  so!" 

608 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Thought  what  ?" 

"It  is  our  battle  he  is  describing." 

"Which  of  'em?    We  live  in  hot  water." 

"The  one  before  Jem  was  our  friend.  What  is  he  singing  ? 
Oh,  come!  that  is  over-doing  it,  Jacky!  Why,  Jem!  he  is 
telling  them  he  killed  you  on  the  spot." 

"I'll  punch  his  head !" 

"No!  take  it  easy,"  said  Robinson;  "he  is  a  poet;  this  is 
what  they  call  poetical  license." 

"Lie  without  sense  I  call  it,  when  here  is  the  man." 

"Ting  tong  !  ting  tong !  tong ! — 
I    slew   him — he   fell — by   the   Wurra-Gurra    River 
I  slew  him! — ting  tong!  he  fell — ting  tong! 
By  the  Wurra-Gurra  River — ting  ting  tong!" 

This  line  Jacky  repeated  at  least  forty  times ;  but  he  evaded 
monotony  by  the  following  simple  contrivance — 

"I  slew  him ;  he  fell  by  the  Wurra-Gurra  River — ting  tong ! 
/  slew  him;  he  fell,  by  the  Wurra-Gurra  River, 
I  slew  him;  he  fell,  by  the  Wurra-Gurra  River," 

with  similar  changes  and  then  back  again. 

One  of  our  own  savages  saved  a  great  poet  from  monotony 
by  similar  means  ■}  very  good  of  him. 

And  now  the  gins  took  up  the  tune  without  the  words, 
and  the  dance  began  to  it.  First  two  figures  ghastly  with 
white  paint  came  bounding  like  Jacks-in-the-box  out  of  the 
gloom  into  the  red  light,  and  danced  gracefully — then  one 
more  popped  out — then  another  at  set  intervals  of  time — then 
another,  all  painted  differently — and  swelled  the  dance  by  de- 
grees ;  and  still  as  the  dance  grew  in  numbers,  the  musicians 
sang  and  drummed  louder  and  faster  by  well-planned  grada- 
tions, and  the  motion  rose  in  intensity,  till  they  all  warmed 
into  the  terrible  savage  corroboree  jump,  legs  striding  wide, 
head  turned  over  one  shoulder,  the  eyes  glaring  with  fiendish 
intensity  in  one  direction,  the  arms  both  raised  and  grasping 

*  The  elder  Sheridan,  who  used  to  teacli  his  pupils  to  thresh  dead 
Dryden  out  thus  : — 

"None   but  the   brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave — deserve  the  fair." 
^^  609 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

waddies  and  boomerangs — till  at  last  they  worked  up  to  such 
a  gallop  of  fierce  buck-like  leaps  that  there  was  a  jump  for 
each  beat  of  the  music.  Now  they  were  in  four  lines,  and 
as  the  figures  in  the  front  line  jumped  to  the  right,  each  keep- 
ing his  distance  to  a  hair,  the  second  line  jumped  to  the  left, 
the  third  to  the  right,  and  the  fourth  to  the  left. 

The  twinkle  and  beauty  and  symmetry  of  this  was  admir- 
able, and  strange  as  it  may  appear,  not  only  were  the  savages 
now  wrought  up  to  frenzy  at  this  climax  of  the  dance,  but 
the  wonderful  magnetic  influence  these  children  of  Nature 
have  learned  to  create  and  launch  in  the  corroboree  so  stirred 
the  white  men's  blood,  that  they  went  half-mad  too,  and 
laughed  and  shouted  and  danced,  and  could  hardly  help 
flinging  themselves  among  the  mad  fiends,  and  jumping  and 
yelling  with  them ;  and  when  the  jump  was  at  its  fiercest  and 
quickest,  and  the  great  frenzy  boiling  over,  these  cunning 
artists  brought  it  to  a  dead  stop  sharp  upon  the  climax — and 
all  was  still. 

In  another  minute  they  were  all  snoring;  but  George  and 
Robinson  often  started  in  their  slumbers,  dreaming  they  saw 
the  horrid  figures — the  skeletons,  lizards,  snakes,  tartan 
shawls,  and  whitened  fiends,  the  whole  lot  blazing  at  the 
eyes  and  mouth  like  white  bude-lights,  come  bounding  one 
after  another  out  of  the  black  night  into  the  red  torchlight, 
and  then  go  striding  and  jumping  and  lurid  and  raging  and 
bucking  and  prancing,  and  scattering  battle  and  song  and  joy 
and  rage  and  inspiration  and  stark-staring  frenzy  all  around. 

They  awoke  at  daylight  rather  cold,  and  found  piles  of 
snow  upon  their  blankets,  and  the  lizards  and  skeletons  and 
imps  and  tartan  shawls  deteriorated.  The  snow  had  melted 
on  their  bodies,  and  the  colours  had  all  run — some  of  them 
away.  Quid  multa?  we  all  know  how  beauties  look  when 
the  sun  breaks  on  them  after  a  ball. 

They  asked  for  Jacky ;  to  their  great  chagrin,  he  was  not 
to  be  found.  They  waited,  getting  crosser  and  crosser  till 
nine  o'clock,  and  then  out  comes  my  lord  from  the  wood, 
walking  towards  them  with  his  head  down  on  his  bosom, 
the  picture  of  woe — the  milmeridien  movement  over 
again. 

"There !  don't  let  us  scold  him,"  said  George.     "I  am  sure 

6io 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

he  has  lost  a  relation  or  maybe  a  dear  friend ;  anyway  I  hope 
it  is  not  his  sweetheart — poor  Jacky !  Well,  Jacky !  I  am 
glad  you  have  washed  your  face ;  now  I  know  you  again. 
Yon  can't  think  how  much  better  you  look  in  your  own  face 
than  painted  up  in  that  unreasonable  way,  like — like — like — 
I  dono-what-all." 

"Like  something  between  a  devil  and  a  rainbow,"  sug- 
gested Robinson. 

"But  what  is  wrong?"  asked  George  kindly.  "I  am  al- 
most afraid  to  ask,  though  !" 

Encouraged  by  the  tone  of  sympathy,  the  afflicted  chief 
pointed  to  his  face,  sighed,  and  said,  "Kalingalunga  paint 
war,  and  now'  Kalingalunga  wash  'um  face  and  not  kill  any- 
body first.  Kalingalunga  Jacky  again,  and  show  you  white 
place  in  'um  hill  a  good  deal  soon." 

And  the  amiable  heathen  cleared  up  a  little  at  the  pros- 
pect of  serving  George,  whom  he  loved — aboriginally. 

Jem  remained  with  the  natives  upon  some  frivolous  pre- 
tence. His  real  hope  was  to  catch  the  ruffian  whom  he  se- 
cretly believed  to  be  still  in  the  wood.  "He  is  like  enough 
to  creep  out  this  way,"  thought  Jem,  "and  then — won't  I 
nail  him !" 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  standing  under  the  spot  w^hose 
existence   Robinson  had   so   often   doubted. 

"Well,  George,  you  painted  it  true;  it  really  is  a  river  of 
quartz  running  between  those  two  black  rocks.  And  that 
you  think  is  the  home  of  the  gold,  eh?" — "Well,  I  do.  Look 
here,  Tom !  look  at  this  great  large  heap  of  quartz  boulders, 
all  of  different  sizes ;  they  have  all  rolled  down  here  out  of 
that  river  of  quartz." 

"Why,  of  course  they  have!     Who  doubts  that?" 

"Many  is  the  time  I  have  sat  on  that  green  mound  where 
Jacky  is  sitting  now,  and  eaten  my  bread  and  cheese." 

"I  daresay!  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?  What  are 
we  to  do  ?  Are  we  to  go  up  the  rock  and  peck  into  that  mass 
of  quartz?" 

"Well,  I  think  it  is  worth  while." 

"Why,  it  would  be  like  biting  a  piece  out  of  the  world  I 
Look  here,  Master  George !  we  can  put  your  notion  about  the 
home  of  the  gold  to  the  test  without  all  that  trouble." 

6n 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"As  how?" — "You  own  all  these  quartz  stones  rolled  out 
of  yon  river;  if  so,  they  are  samples  of  it.  Ten  thousand 
quartz  stones  is  quite  sample  enough,  so  begin  and  turn  them 
all  over,  examine  them — break  them,  if  you  like.  If  we  find 
but  a  speck  of  gold  in  one  of  them,  I'll  believe  that  quartz 
river  is  gold's  home — if  not,  it  is  all  humbug!" 

George  pulled  a  wry  face ;  he  found  himself  pinned  to  his 
own  theory. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  own  the  sample  tells  us  what  is  in  the 
barn ;  so  now  I  am  vexed  for  bringing  you  here." 

"Now  we  are  here,  give  it  a  fair  trial ;  let  us  set  to  and 
break  every  boulder  in  the  thundering  heap." 

They  went  to  work  and  picked  the  quartz  boulders ;  full 
two  hours  they  worked,  and  by  this  time  they  had  made  a 
considerable  heap  of  broken  quartz ;  it  glittered  in  the  sun, 
but  it  glittered  white,  not  a  speck  of  yellow  came  to  light. 
George  was  vexed.  Robinson  grinned ;  expecting  nothing, 
he  was  not  disappointed.  Besides,  he  was  winning  an  argu- 
ment, and  we  all  like  to  turn  out  prophets.  Presently  a 
little  cackle  from  Jacky. 

"I  find  'um!" 

"Find  what  ?"  asked  Robinson  without  looking  up. 

"A  good  deal  yellow  stone,"  replied  Jacky,  with  at  least 
equal  composure. 

"Let  me  see  that,"  said  George  with  considerable  curiosity, 
and  they  both  went  to  Jacky. 

Now  the  fact  is  that  this  heap  of  quartz  stones  was  in 
reality  much  larger  than  they  thought,  only  the  greater  part 
of  it  had  been  overgrown  with  moss  and  patches  of  grass  a 
few  centuries  of  centuries  ago. 

Jacky,  seated  on  what  seemed  a  grassy  mound,  was  in 
reality  perched  upon  a  part  of  the  antique  heap ;  his  keen  eye 
saw  a  little  bit  of  yellow  protruding  through  the  moss,  and 
he  was  amusing  himself  clipping  it  with  his  tomahawk,  cut- 
ting away  the  moss  and  chipping  the  stone,  which  made  the 
latter  glitter  more  and  yellower. 

"Hallo!"  cried  George,  "this  looks  better." 

Robinson  went  on  his  knees  without  a  word. 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  he  in  a  great  flutter,  "it  is  a  nugget — 
and  a  good-sized  one — a  pound  weight,  I  think.     Now  then, 

612 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

my  lad,  out  you  come,"  and  he  dug-  his  fingers  under  it  to 
jerk  it  out. 

But  the  next  moment  he  gave  a  screech  and  looked  up 
amazed. 

"Why,  this  is  the  point  of  the  nugget ;  it  lies  the  other 
way,  not  flat,  George !  I  can't  move  it !  The  pick !  Oh, 
Lord,  oh.  Lord  !     The  pick !  the  pick !" 

"Stand  clear,"  shouted  George,  and  he  drove  the  point  of 
the  pick  down  close  by  the  prize,  then  he  pressed  on  the 
handle.     "Why,  Tom,  it  is  jammed  somehow." 

"No,  it  is  not  jammed — it  is  its  own  weight.  Why, 
George !" 

"Then,  Tom!  it  is  a  hundredweight  if  it  is  an  ounce!" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  cried  the  other,  trembling  all  over; 
"there  is  no  such  thing  in  nature." 

The  nugget  now  yielded  slowly  to  the  pressure,  and  began 
to  come  up  into  the  world  again  inch  by  inch  after  so  many 
thousand  years.  Of  course,  before  it  could  come  all  out, 
the  soil  must  open  first,  and  when  Robinson,  glaring  down, 
saw  a  square  foot  of  earth  part  and  gape  as  the  nugget  came 
majestically  up,  he  gave  another  cry,  and  with  trembling 
hands  laid  hold  of  the  prize,  and  pulled  and  tugged  and  rolled 
it  on  to  the  clean  moss — to  lift  it  was  not  so  easy.  They  fell 
down  on  their  knees  by  the  side  of  it  like  men  in  a  dream. 
Such  a  thing  had  never  been  seen  or  heard  of — a  hundred- 
weight of  quartz  and  gold,  and  beautiful  as  it  was  great.  It 
was  like  honeycomb,  the  cells  of  which  had  been  sliced  by  a 
knife ;  the  shining  metal  brimmed  over  in  the  delicate  quartz 
cells. 

They  lifted  it.  Yes,  full  a  hundredweight ;  half  the  mass 
was  quartz,  but  four-fifths  of  the  weight  they  knew  must  be 
gold.  Then  they  jumped  up  and  each  put  a  foot  on  it,  and 
shook  hands  over  it. 

"Oh,  you  beauty!"  cried  George,  and  he  went  on  his  knees 
and  kissed  it ;  "that  is  not  because  you  are  gold,  but  because 
you  take  me  to  Susan.  Now,  Tom,  let  us  thank  Heaven  for 
its  goodness  to  us,  and  back  to  camp  this  very  day." 

"Ay !  but  stop,  we  must  wrap  it  in  our  wipes,  or  we  shall 
never  get  back  alive.  The  very  honest  ones  would  turn 
villains  at  sight  of  it.     It  is  the  wonder  of  the  world." 

613 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   AIEND 

'T  see  my  Susan's  eyes  in  it,"  cried  George  in  rapture, 
"Oh,  Tom !  good,  kind,  honest  Tom !  shake  hands  over  it 
once  more !" 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  rapture  a  horrible  thought  oc- 
curred. 

"Why,  it's  Jacky's,"  said  George  faintly ;  "he  found  it." 

"Nonsense !  nonsense !"  cried  Tom  uneasily ;  he  added, 
however,  "But  I  am  afraid  one-third  of  it  is — pals  share, 
white  or  black." 

All  their  eyes  now  turned  uneasily  to  the  aboriginal,  who 
lay  yawning  on  the  grass. 

"Jacky  give  him  you,  George,"  said  this  worthy  savage 
with  superb  indifference :  he  added  with  a  yawn,  "What  for 
you  dance  corroboree  when  'um  not  dark? — den  you  bite 
yellow-stone,"  continued  this  original,  "den  you  red,  den  you 
white,  den  you  red  again,  all  because  we  pull  up  yellow- 
stone — all  dis  a  good  deal  dam  ridiculous." 

"So  'tis,  Jacky,"  replied  Robinson  hastily ;  "don't  you  have 
anything  to  do  with  yellow-stone ;  it  would  make  you  as 
great  a  fool  as  we  are.  Now  show  us  the  shortest  cut  back 
home  through  the  bush." 

At  the  native  camp  they  fell  in  with  Jem.  The  monstrous 
nugget  was  too  heavy  to  conceal  from  his  shrewd  eye,  so 
they  showed  it  him.  The  sight  of  it  almost  knocked  him 
down.  Robinson  told  him  where  they  found  it,  and  advised 
Jem  to  go  and  look  for  another.  Alas !  the  great  nugget  al- 
ready made  him  wish  one  friend  away.     But  Jem  said — 

"No,  I  will  see  you  safe  through  the  bush  first." 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

ALL  this  time  two  persons  in  the  gold-mine  were  upon 
thorns  of  expectation  and  doubt — brutus  and  Peter 
Crawley.  George  and  Robinson  did  not  return,  but  no  more 
did  Black  Will.  What  had  happened?  Had  the  parties 
come  into  collision?  and  if  so,  with  what  result?  If  the 
friends  had  escaped,  why  had  they  never  been  heard  of  since? 
If,  on  the  other  hand.  Will  had  come  off  conqueror,  why  had 
he  never  reappeared?     At  last  brutus  arrived  at  a  positive 

614 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

conviction  that  Black  Will  had  robbed  and  probably  mur- 
dered the  men,  and  was  skulking-  somewhere  with  their  gold, 
thereby  defrauding  him,  his  pal;  however,  he  kept  this  to 
himself,  and  told  Crawley  that  he  feared  Will  had  come  to 
grief,  so  he  would  go  well  armed  and  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter and  whether  he  could  help  him.  So  he  started  for  the 
bush  well  armed.  Now  his  real  object,  I  blush  to  say,  was 
to  murder  Black  Will,  and  rob  him  of  the  spoils  of  George 
and  Robinson. 

Wicked  as  these  men  of  violence  had  been  six  months  ago, 
gold  and  Crawley  had  made  them  worse,  ay!  much  worse. 
Crawley  indeed  had  never  openly  urged  any  of  them  to  so 
deep  a  crime  as  murder,  and  it  is  worthy  of  note  as  a  psy- 
chological fact  that  this  reptile  contrived  to  deceive  itself  into 
thinking  that  it  had  stopped  short  of  crime's  utmost  limits ; 
to  be  sure  it  had  tempted  and  bribed  and  urged  men  to  rob- 
bery under  circumstances  that  were  almost  sure  to  lead  to 
murder,  but  still  murder  might  not  occur;  meantime  it  had 
openly  discountenanced  that  crime,  and  checked  the  natural 
proclivity  of  brutus  and  Black  Will  towards  deeds  of  blood. 

Self-deception  will  probably  cease  at  the  first  blast  of  the 
arch-angel's  trumpet,  but  what  human  heart  willl  part  with  it 
till  then?  The  circumstances  under  which  a  human  being 
could  not  excuse  or  delude  or  justify  himself  have  never  yet 
occurred  in  the  huge  annals  of  crime.  Prejudice  apart, 
Crawley's  moral  position  behind  brutus  and  Black  Will  seems 
to  bear  a  strong  family  likeness  to  that  which  Holy  Writ  as- 
signs to  the  great  enemy  of  man.  That  personage  knocks 
out  nobody's  brains,  cuts  nobody's  throat — never  was  guilty 
of  such  brutality  since  the  world  was — but  he  finds  some 
thorough  egotist,  and  whispers  how  the  egotism  of  his  pas- 
sions or  his  interest  may  be  gratified  by  the  death  of  a  fellow- 
creature.     The  egotist  listens  and  blood  flows. 

brutus  and  Black  Will  had  both  suffered  for  their  crimes, 
brutus  had  been  nailed  by  Carlo,  twice  gibbeted,  and  the 
bridge  of  his  nose  broken  once.  Black  Will  had  been  muti- 
lated and  Walker  nearly  drowned,  but  "the  close  contriver 
of  all  harms"  had  kept  out  of  harm's  way.  Violence  had 
never  recoiled  on  him  who  set  it  moving.  For  all  that,  Craw- 
ley, I  must  inform  the  reader,  was  not  entirely  prosperous. 

615 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

He  had  his  httle  troubles  too,  whether  warnings  that  he  was 
on  the  wrong  path,  or  punishments  of  his  vices,  or  both,  I 
can't  say. 

Thus  it  was.  Mr.  Crawley  had  a  natural  love  of  spirits 
without  a  stomach  strong  enough  to  deal  with  them.  When 
he  got  away  from  Mr.  Meadows,  he  indulged  more  and 
more,  and  for  some  months  past  he  had  been  subject  to  an  un- 
pleasant phenomenon  that  arises  now  and  then  out  of  the 
fumes  of  liquor.  At  the  festive  board,  even  as  he  raised  the 
glass  to  his  lips,  the  face  of  Crawley  would  often  be  seen  to 
writhe  with  a  sort  of  horror,  and  his  eyes  to  become  fixed  on 
unseen  objects  and  perspiration  to  gather  on  his  brow.  Then 
such  as  were  not  in  the  secret  would  jump  up  and  say,  "What 
on  earth  is  the  matter?"  and  look  fearfully  round,  expecting 
to  see  some  horrid  sight  to  justify  that  look  of  horror  and 
anguish,  but  Crawley,  his  glassy  eyes  still  fixed,  would 
whimper  out,  his  teeth  chattering  and  clipping  the  words, 
"Oh,  ne-ne-never  mind,  it's  o-o-only  a  trifling  ap-pa-rition !" 
He  had  got  to  try  and  make  light  of  it,  because  at  first  he 
used  to  cry  out  and  point,  and  then  the  miners  ran  out  and 
left  him  alone  with  his  phantoms,  and  this  was  terrible.  He 
dreaded  solitude ;  he  schemed  against  it  and  provided  against 
it,  and  paid  fellows  to  bear  him  company  night  and  day,  and 
at  the  festive  board  it  was  one  thing  to  drink  his  phantoms 
neat,  and  another  to  dilute  them  with  figures  of  flesh  and 
blood.    He  much  preferred  the  latter. 

At  first  his  supernatural  visitors  were  of  an  unfavourable 
but  not  a  ghastly  character. 

No.  I  was  a  judge,  who  used  to  rise  through  the  floor,  and 
sit  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  wall,  with  a  tremendous  flow 
of  horse-hair,  a  furrowed  face,  a  vertical  chasm  between  the 
temples,  and  a  strike-me-off-the-rolls  eye  gleaming  with  dia- 
bolical fire  from  under  a  grey  shaggy  eyebrow. 

No.  2  was  a  policeman,  who  came  in  through  the  window 
and  stood  imperturbable  all  in  blue,  with  a  pair  of  handcufifs, 
and  a  calm  eye  and  a  disagreeable  absence  of  effort  or  emo- 
tion— an  inevitable-looking  policeman. 

But  as  Crawley  went  deeper  in  crime  and  brandy,  blood- 
boltered  figures,  erect  corpses  with  the  sickening  signs  of 
violence  in  every  conceivable  form,  used  to  come  and  blast 

6i6 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

his  sight  and  arrest  the  glass  on  its  way  to  his  hps,  and 
make  his  songs  and  the  boisterous  attempts  at  mirth  of  his 
withered  heart  die  in  a  quaver  and  a  shiver  of  fear  and 
despair.  And  at  this  period  of  our  tale  these  horrors  had 
made  room  for  a  phantom  more  horrible  still  to  such  a  crea- 
ture as  Crawley.  The  air  would  seem  to  thicken  into  sulphu- 
reous smoke  and  then  to  clear,  and  then  would  come  out 
clearer  and  clearer,  more  and  more  awful,  a  black  figure 
with  hoofs  and  horns  and  tail,  eyes  like  red-hot  carbuncles, 
teeth  a  chevaux-de-frise  of  white-hot  iron,  and  an  appalling 
grin.^ 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

THE  party  consisting  of  Jacky,  Jem,  Robinson,  and 
George,  had  traversed  about  one-half  the  bush,  when 
a  great  heavy  crow  came  wheeling  and  cackling  over  their 
heads,  and  then  joined  a  number  more  who  were  now  seen 
circling  over  a  gum-tree  some  hundred  yards  distant. 

"Let  us  go  and  see  what  that  is,"  said  Jem. 

Jacky  grinned  and  led  the  way.  They  had  not  gone  very 
far  when  another  great  black  bird  rose  so  near  their  feet  as 
to  make  them  jump,  and  peering  through  the  bushes  they  saw 
a  man  lying  on  his  back.  His  arm  was  thrown  in  an  easy 
natural  way  round  his  gun,  but  at  a  second  glance  it  was 
plain  the  man  was  dead.  The  crows  had  ripped  his  clothes 
to  ribands  with  their  tremendous  beaks  and  lacerated  the 
flesh  and  picked  out  the  eyes. 

They  stepped  a  few  paces  from  this  sight.  There  was  no 
sign  of  violence  on  the  body. 

"Poor  fellow !"  said  Jem.  "How  did  he  come  by  his  end, 
I  wonder?"  And  he  stretched  forward  and  peered  with  pity 
and  curiosity  mingled. 

"Lost  in  the  bush !"  said  Robinson  very  solemnly.  And 
he  and  George  exchanged  a  meaning  look. 

"What  is  that  for?"  said  George  angrily  to  Jacky — "grin- 
ning in  sight  of  a  dead  body?" 

"White  fellow  stupid  fellow,"  was  all  Jacky's  reply. 
*The  god  Pan,  coloured  black  by  the  early  Christians, 
617 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


The  men  now  stepped  up  to  the  body  to  examine  it,  not 
that  they  had  much  hope  of  discovering  who  it  was,  but  still 
they  knew  it  was  their  duty  for  the  sake  of  his  kindred  to 
try  and  find  out. 

George,  overcoming  a  natural  repugnance,  examined  the 
pockets.  He  found  no  papers.  He  found  a  knife,  but  no 
name  was  cut  in  the  handle.  In  the  man's  bosom  he  found 
a  small  metal  box,  but  just  as  he  was  taking  it  out  Jem 
gave  a  hallo ! 

'T  think  I  know  him,"  cried  Jem.  "There  is  no  mistaking 
that  crop  of  black  hair ;  it  is  my  old  captain,  Black  Will." 

"You  don't  say  so?  What  could  he  be  doing  here  without 
his  party?" 

"Anything  in  the  box,  George?"  asked  Robinson. 

"Nothing  but  a  little  money.  Here  is  a  sovereign — look! 
And  here  is  a  bank-note." 

"A  five-pound  note?" 

"Yes — no ;  it  is  more  than  that  a  good  deal.  It  is  for  fifty 
pounds,  Tom." 

"What?"— "A  fifty-pound  note,  I  tell  you." 

"Jem!"— "Captain!" 

A  most  expressive  look  was  exchanged  between  these  two, 
and  by  one  impulse  they  both  seized  the  stock  of  the  gun 
that  was  in  the  dead  man's  hand.  They  lifted  it,  and  yes — 
two  fingers  were  wanting  on  the  right  hand. 

"Come  away  from  that  fellow,"  cried  Robinson  to  George ; 
"let  him  lie." 

George  looked  up  in  some  wonder.  Robinson  pointed 
sternly  to  the  dead  hand  in  silence.  George,  by  the  light  of 
the  other  men's  faces,  saw  it  all,  and  recoiled  with  a  natural 
movement  of  repugnance  as  from  a  dead  snake.  There  was 
a  breathless  silence,  and  every  eye  bent  upon  this  terrible 
enemy  lying  terrible  no  longer  at  their  feet. 

"How  did  he  die?"  asked  Robinson  in  a  whisper. 

"In  the  great  snowstorm,"  replied  George  in  a  whisper. 

"No,"  said  Jem  in  the  same  tone,  "he  was  alive  yesterday. 
I  saw  his  footprint  after  the  snow  was  melted." 

"There  was  snow  again  last  night,  Tom.  Perhaps  he  went 
to  sleep  in  that  with  his  belly  empty." 

"Starvation  and  fatigue  would  do  it  without  the  snow, 

6i8 


"At  a  second  glance  it  was  plain  the  man  was  dead' 


I 


g 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

George.  We  brought  a  day's  provisions  out  with  us,  George. 
He  never  thought  of  that,  I  will  be  bound." 

"Not  he,"  said  Jem.  "Fll  answer  for  him  he  only  thought 
of  robbing  and  killing — never  thought  about  dying  him- 
self." 

"I  can't  believe  he  is  dead  so  easy  as  this,"  said  Robinson. 

The  feeling  was  natural.  This  man  had  come  into  the 
wood  and  had  followed  them,  burning  to  work  them  ill,  and 
they  to  work  him  ill.  Both  were  utterly  baffled.  He  had 
never  prevailed  to  hurt  them,  nor  they  him.  He  was  dead, 
but  by  no  mortal  hand.  The  immediate  cause  of  his  death 
was  unknown,  and  will  never  be  known  for  certain  while  the 
world  lasts. 

L'homme  propose,  mais  Dicu  dispose! 


CHAPTER   LXXIII. 

'T^ON'T  keep  staring  at  it  so,  farmer;  it  is  an  ugly  sight. 
JLy  You  will  see  him  in  your  sleep  if  you  do  that.  Here 
is  something  better  to  look  at — a  letter.  And  there  I  carried 
it,  and  never  once  thought  of  it  till  the  sight  of  his  hand  made 
me  feel  in  my  pocket,  and  then  my  hand  ran  against  it.  'Tis 
from  Mr.  Levi." 

"Thank  you,  Jem.  Tom,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  read  it  me 
while  I  work?" 

"Yes,  give  it  me.  Work!  Why,  what  are  we  going  to 
work  at  in  the  bush  ?" 

"I  should  think  you  might  guess,"  replied  George  quietly, 
while  putting  down  his  pickaxe  and  taking  ofif  his  coat. 
"Well,  I  am  astonished  at  both  of  you.  You  ought  to  know 
what  I  am  going  to  do.  Humph !  Under  this  tree  will  be 
as  good  a  place  as  any." 

"Jem.  as  I  am  a  sinner,  he  is  going  to  bury  him." 

"Bury  what?     The  nugget?" 

"No,  Jem— the  Christian."^ 

"A  pretty  Christian,"  sneered  Robinson. 

'In  Berkshire,  among  a  certain  class,  this  word  means  a  "human 
being." 

619 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  Tom." 

"I  know  it  is  not  very  kind  of  you  to  take  all  this  trouble 
to  bury  my  enemy,"  said  Robinson,  hurt. 

"Don't  ye  say  that,"  replied  George,  hurt  in  his  turn,  "He 
was  as  much  my  enemy  as  yours." 

"No  such  thing !  He  was  here  after  me,  and  has  been  tor- 
menting me  this  twelve  months.  You  have  no  enemy,  a 
great  soft  spoon  like  you." 

"Keep  your  temper,  Tom,"  answered  George  in  a  mollify- 
ing tone.  "Let  each  man  act  according  to  his  lights.  I 
couldn't  leave  a  corpse  to  the  fowls  of  the  air." 

"Gibbet  a  murderer,  I  say — don't  bury  him;  especially 
when  he  has  just  been  hunting  our  very  lives." 

"Tom,"  replied  George  doggedly,  "death  settles  all  ac- 
counts. I  liked  the  man  as  little  as  you  could,  and  it  is  not 
to  say  I  am  in  love  with  a  man  because  I  sprinkle  a  little 
earth  over  his  dead  bones.  Ugh !  This  is  the  unkindest  soil 
to  work.  It  is  full  of  roots,  enough  to  break  a  fellow's 
*  heart." 

While  George  was  picking  and  grubbing  out  roots  and 
fighting  with  the  difficult  soil,  Robinson  opened  Levi's  letter 
viciously  and  read  out — 

"George  Fielding,  you  have  an  enemy  in  the  mine — a  se- 
cret, cowardly,  unscrupulous  enemy,  who  lies  in  wait  for 
your  return.  I  have  seen  his  face,  and  tremble  for  you. 
Therefore  listen  to  my  words.  The  old  Jew,  whom  twice 
you  have  saved  from  harm  and  insult,  is  rich ;  his  children 
are  dead,  the  wife  of  his  bosom  is  dead.  He  loves  no  crea- 
ture now  but  you  and  Susannah ;  therefore  run  no  more  risks 
for  gold,  since  much  gold  awaits  you  without  risk.  Come 
home.  Respect  the  words  of  age  and  experience — come 
home.  Delay  not  an  hour.  Oh,  say  not,  T  will  sleep  yet  one 
more  night  in  my  tent,  and  then  I  will  depart,'  but  ride  speed- 
ily after  me  on  the  very  instant.  Two  horses  have  I  pur- 
chased for  you  and  the  young  man  your  friend — two  swift 
horses  with  their  saddles.  The  voucher  is  enclosed.  Ride 
speedily  after  me  this  very  hour,  lest  evil  befall  you  and  yet 
more  sorrow  fall  upon  Susannah  and  upon       Isaac  Levi." 

The  reading  of  this  letter  was  followed  by  a  thoughtful 

62c 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

silence,  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  George's  pickaxe  and 
the  bursting  roots. 

"This  is  a  very  extraordinary  letter.  Mr.  Levi  knows 
more  than  he  tells  you,  George." 

"I  am  of  your  opinion." 

"Why,  captain,"  said  Jem,  "to  go  by  that  letter,  Fielding  is 
the  marked  man,  and  not  you  after  all.  So  it  is  his  own 
enemy  he  is  digging  that  grave  for." 

"Do  you  think  you  will  stop  him  by  saying  that?"  asked 
Robinson  with  a  shrug. 

"He  was  my  enemy,  Tom,  and  yours  too;  but  now  he  is 
nobody's  enemy — he  is  dead.  Will  you  help  me  lay  him  in 
the  earth,  or  shall  I  do  it  by  myself?" 

"We  will  help,"  said  the  others  a  little  sullenly. 

They  brought  the  body  to  its  grave  under  the  tall  gum- 
tree. 

"Not  quite  so  rough,  Tom,  if  yon  please." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  be  rough  that  I  know  of — there !" 

They  laid  the  dead  villain  gently  and  reverently  in  his 
grave.  George  took  a  handful  of  soil  and  scattered  it  over 
him. 

"Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust,"  said  he  solemnly. 

The  other  two  looked  down  and  sprinkled  soil  too,  and 
their  anger  and  bitterness  began  to  soften  by  the  side  of 
George  and  over  the  grave. 

Then  Jem  felt  in  his  pocket  and  produced  something 
wrapped  in  silver  paper. 

"This  belongs !"  said  he  with  a  horrible  simplicity.  "The 
farmer  is  too  good  for  this  world,  but  it  is  a  good  fault. 
There,  farmer,"  said  he,  looking  to  George  for  approbation 
as  he  dropped  the  little  parcel  into  the  grave. 

"After  all,"  continued  Jem  good-naturedly,  "it  would  have 
been  very  hard  upon  a  poor  fellow  to  wake  up  in  the  next 
world  and  not  have  what  does  belong  to  him  to  make  an 
honest  living  with." 

The  grave  was  filled  in  and  a  little  mound  made  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree.  Then  George  took  out  his  knife  and  began  to 
cut  the  smooth  bark. 

"What  now  ?  Oh,  I  see !  That  is  a  good  idea.  George. 
Read  them  a  lesson.     Say  in  a  few  words  how  he  came  here 

621 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

to  do  a  deed  of  violence  and  died  himself  by  the  hand  of 
Heaven." 

"Tom,"  replied  George,  cutting  away  at  the  bark,  "he  is 
gone  where  he  is  sure  to  be  judged,  so  we  have  no  call  to 
judge  him.  God  Almighty  can  do  that,  I  do  suppose,  without 
us  putting  in  our  word." 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  I  never  saw  the  toad  so 
obstinate  before,  Jem.     What  is  he  cutting,  I  wonder?" 

The  inscription  when  finished  ran  thus — 

"Please  don't  cut  down  this  tree. 
"It  is  a  tombstone. 

"A  WHITE  man   lies  BELOW." 

"Now,  Tom,  for  England." 

They  set  out  again  with  alacrity,  and  battled  with  the  bush 
about  two  hours  more.  George  and  Robinson  carried  the 
great  nugget  on  a  handkerchief  stretched  double  across  two 
sticks.  Jem  carried  the  picks.  They  were  all  in  high  spirits 
and  made  light  of  scratches  and  difficulties.  At  last,  some- 
what suddenly,  they  burst  out  of  the  thick  part  into  the  mere 
outskirts  frequented  by  the  miners,  and  there  they  came 
plump  upon  brutus,  with  a  gun  in  his  hand  and  pistols  peep- 
ing out  of  his  pockets,  come  to  murder  Black  Will  and  rob 
him  of  his  spoils. 

They  were  startled  and  brutus  astounded,  for  he  was  fully 
persuaded  George  and  Robinson  had  ceased  to  exist.  He  was 
so  dumfoundered  that  Robinson  walked  up  to  him  and  took 
the  gun  out  of  his  hands  without  any  resistance  on  his  part. 
The  others  came  round  him,  and  Robinson  demanded  his 
pistols. 

"What  for?"  said  he. 

Now  at  this  very  moment  his  eye  fell  upon  that  fabulous 
mass  of  gold  they  carried,  and  both  his  eyes  opened  and  a 
sort  of  shiver  passed  over  him.  With  ready  cunning  he 
looked  another  way,  but  it  was  too  late.  Robinson  had 
caught  that  furtive  glance,  and  a  chill  came  oyer  him  that 
this  villain  should  have  seen  the  prize,  a  thing  to  excite  cu- 
pidity to  frenzy.  Nothing  now  would  have  induced  Robin- 
son to  leave  him  armed. 

He  replied  sternly,  "Because  we  are  four  to  one,  and  we 

622 


I 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

will  hang  you  on  the  nearest  tree  if  you  don't  give  them  up. 
And  now,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

*T  was  only  looking  for  my  pal,"  said  brutus. 

"Well,  you  won't  want  a  gun  and  pistols  to  look  for  your 
pal.     Which  way  are  you  going?" — "Into  the  bush." 

"Then  mizzle !     That  is  the  road," 

Brutus  moved  gloomily  away  into  the  bush. 

"There,"  said  Robinson,  "he  has  turned  bush-ranger.  I've 
disarmed  him  and  saved  some  poor  fellow's  life  and  property. 
Cover  up  the  nugget,  George." 

They  went  on,  but  presently  Robinson  had  a  thought. 

"Jacky,"  said  he,  "you  saw  that  man ;  should  you  know 
him  again?" — "Yes." 

"Jacky,  that  man  is  our  enemy.  Could  you  track  him  by 
his  footsteps  without  ever  letting  him  see  you?" 

Jacky  smiled  superior. 

"Then  follow  him  and  see  where  he  goes  and  whom  he 
joins,  and  come  to  the  mine  directly  and  tell  me." 

Jack's  eyes  gleamed  at  this  intelligence.  He  sat  down,  and 
in  a  few  turns  of  the  hand  painted  his  face  war,  and  glided 
like  a  serpent  on  brutus's  trail. 

The  rest  cleared  the  wood,  and  brought  the  nugget  safe 
hidden  in  their  pocket-handkerchief  to  camp.  They  begged 
Jem  to  accept  the  fifty  pounds,  if  he  did  not  mind  handling 
the  price  of  blood. 

Jem  assured  them  he  had  no  such  scruples,  and  took  it  with 
a  burst  of  thanks. 

Then  they  made  him  promise  faithfully  not  to  mention  to 
a  soul  about  the  monster  nugget.  No  more  he  did  while  he 
was  sober,  but  alas !  some  hours  later,  having  a  drop  in  his 
head,  he  betrayed  his  secret  to  one  or  two — say  forty. 

Robinson  pitched  their  tent  and  mounted  guard  over  the 
nugget.  George  was  observed  to  be  in  a  strange  flutter.  He 
ran  hither  and  thither.  Ran  to  the  post-office — ran  to  the 
stationer — got  paper — drew  up  a  paper — found  M'Laughlan 
— made  him  sign  it — went  to  Mr.  Moore — showed  him 
Isaac's  voucher;  on  which  Moore  produced  the  horses,  a 
large  black  horse  with  both  bone  and  blood,  and  a  good  cob. 

George  was  very  much  pleased  with  them,  and  asked  what 
Levi  had  given  for  them. 

623 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  the  pair." 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  George,  "what  a  price!  Mr.  Levi 
was  in  earnest."  Then  he  ran  out  and  went  to  the  tent  and 
gave  Robinson  his  letters.  "But  there  were  none  for  me, 
Tom,"  sighed  George.     "Never  mind !     I  shall  soon " 

Now  these  letters  brought  joy  and  triumph  to  Robinson ; 
one  contained  a  free  pardon,  the  other  was  a  polite  missive 
from  the  Colonial  Government  in  answer  to  the  miners'  peti- 
tion he  had  sent  up. 

"Secretary  had  the  honour  to  inform  Mr.  Robinson  that 
police  were  on  the  road  to  the  mine,  and  that  soldiers  would 
arrive  as  to-morrow  to  form  an  escort,  so  that  the  miners' 
gold  might  travel  in  safety  down  to  Sydney." 

"Hurrah  I  this  is  good  news,"  cried  Robinson,  "and  what  a 
compliment  to  me.  Do  you  hear,  George?  an  escort  of  sol- 
diers coming  to  the  camp  to-morrow ;  they  will  take  the  nug- 
get safe  to  Sydney." 

"Not  if  we  are  robbed  of  it  to-night,"  replied  George. 

At  this  moment  in  came  Jacky  with  news  of  brutus.  That 
wily  man  had  gone  but  a  little  way  in  the  bush  when  he  had 
made  a  circuit,  and  had  slipped  back  into  another  part  of  the 
mine,  and  Jacky  had  followed  him  first  by  trail,  after- 
wards by  sight,  and  had  marked  him  down  into  a  cer- 
tain tent,  on  which  he  had  straightway  put  a  little  red 
mark. 

"Come  back  after  our  nugget,  George.  Fools  we  were  to 
carry  it  blazing  in  folks'  eyes." 

"I  daresay  we  can  beat  him." 

"I  am  game  to  try.  Jacky,  I  want  to  put  a  question  to 
you." 

While  Jacky  and  Tom  were  conferring  in  animated  whis- 
pers, George  was  fixing  an  old  spur  he  had  picked  up  into 
the  heel  of  his  boot. 

"That  is  capital,  Jacky.  Well,  George,  we  have  hit  upon 
a  plan." 

"And  so  have  I." 

"You?" — "Yes,  me!  but  tell  me  yours  first,  Tom." 

Robinson  detailed  him  his  scheme  with  all  its  ramifications, 
and  a  very  ingenious  stratagem  it  was.  For  all  that,  when 
George  propounded  his  plan  in  less  than  six  words,  Robin- 

624 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

son  stared  with  surprise  and  then  gave  way  to  ludicrous  ad- 
miration. 

"Well,"  cried  he,  "simplicity  before  cunning;  look  at  that 
now!  Where  was  my  head?  George,  this  is  your  day — 
carried  ncni.  con." 

"And,  Tom,  you  can  do  yours  all  the  same." 

"Can  ?  Why.  yes,  to  be  sure  I  can.  There,  he  saw  that 
too  before.  Why,  George,  if  you  don't  mind,  you  will  be 
No.  I  and  I  No.  2.  What  makes  you  so  sharp  all  of  a  sud- 
den ?" 

"I  have  to  think  for  Susan  as  well  as  us,"  said  the  poor  fel- 
low tenderly;  "that  is  why  I  am  sharp  for  once  in  a  way. 
And  now,  Jacky,  you  are  a  great  anxiety  to  me,  and  the  time 
is  so  short.  Come  sit  by  me,  dear  Jacky,  and  let  me  try  and 
make  you  understand  what  I  have  been  doing  for  you  that 
you  may  be  good  and  happy,  and  comfortable  in  your  old 
age,  when  your  poor  old  limbs  turn  stifif  and  you  can  hunt 
no  longer,  in  grateful  return  for  the  nugget  and,  more  than 
that,  for  all  your  goodness  and  kindness  to  me  in  times  of  bit- 
ter trouble." 

Then  George  showed  Jacky  how  he  had  given  Abner  one- 
third  of  all  his  sheep  and  cattle,  and  Jacky  two-thirds,  and 
how  M'Laughlan,  a  just  man,  would  see  the  division  made : 
"And  do  leave  the  woods,  except  for  a  hunt  now  and  then, 
Jacky;  you  are  too  good  for  them." 

Above  all,  George  explained  with  homely  earnestness  the 
nature  of  the  sheep,  her  time  of  lambing,  &c.,  and  showed 
Jacky  how  the  sheep  and  cattle  would  always  keep  him  fed 
and  clothed  if  he  would  but  use  them  reasonably  and  not  kill 
the  breeders  for  dinner. 

And  Jacky  listened  with  glistening  eyes,  for  George's  glis- 
tened, and  the  sweet  tones  of  affection  and  gratitude  pierced 
through  this  family  talk,  and  it  is  sad  that  we  must  drop  the 
curtain  on  this  green  spot  in  the  great  camp  and  go  among 
our  villains. 


625 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER   LXXIV. 

"D  OBINSON  did  not  overrate  the  fatal  power  of  the  fabu- 
J-^  lous  mass  of  gold,  a  glimpse  of  which  he  had  incau- 
tiously given  to  greedy  eyes.  It  drew  brutus  like  a  magnet 
after  it.  He  came  all  in  a  flutter  to  mephistopheles,  and  told 
him  he  had  met  the  two  men  carrying  a  lump  of  solid  gold 
between  them  so  heavy  that  the  sticks  bent  under  it.  "The 
sweat  ran  down  me  at  the  sight  of  it,  but  I  managed  to  look 
another  way  directly." 

What  with  the  blows  and  kicks  and  bruises  and  defeats  he 
had  received,  and  with  the  gold  mass  his  lawless  eye  had 
rested  on,  brutus  was  now  in  a  state  of  mind  terrible  to 
think  of. 

Lust  and  hate,  terrible  twins,  stung  that  dark  heart  to 
frenzy.  Could  he  have  had  his  will,  he  would  have  dispensed 
with  cunning,  would  have  gone  out  and  fired  bullets  from 
his  gun  into  the  tent,  and  if  his  enemies  came  out  alive,  have 
met  them  hand  to  hand  to  slay  or  be  slain.  But  the  watchful 
foe  had  disarmed  him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  listen  to  the 
more  reynard-like  ferocity  of  his  accomplice. 

"Bill,"  said  the  assassin  of  Carlo,  "keep  cool,  and  you  shall 
have  the  swag,  and  yet  not  lose  your  revenge  neither." 

" you,  tell  me  how." 

"Let  the  bottle  alone  then ;  you  are  hot  enough  without 
that.  Come  nearer  me.  What  I  have  got  to  say  is  not  the 
sort  of  thing  for  me  to  bawl  about:  we  should  not  be  alive 
half  an  hour  if  it  was  heard  to  come  from  our  lips." 

The  two  heads  came  close  together,  and  Crawley  leaned 
over  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and  listened  with  senses  keen 
as  a  razor. 

"Suppose  I  show  you  how  to  make  those  two  run  out  of 
their  tent  like  two  frightened  women,  and  never  once  think 
about  their  swag?" — "Ah!" 

"And  fall  blinded  for  life  or  dead  or  dying,  while  we  walk 
off  with  the  swag?" 

"Blind,  dead,  dying!  give  me  your  hand.  How?  how? 
how?" 

"Hush !  don't  shout  like  that ;  come  closer,  and  you.  Smith." 

626 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Then  a  diabolical  scheme  hissed  into  the  listeners'  ears, — a 
scheme  at  once  cowardly  and  savage, — a  scheme  of  that  ter- 
rible kind  that  robs  courage,  strength,  and  even  skill  of  their 
natural  advantages,  and  reduces  their  owners  to  the  level  of 
the  weak  and  the  timid, — a  scheme  worthy  of  the  assassin  of 
Carlo,  and  the  name  I  have  given  this  wretch,  whose  brain 
was  so  fertile  and  his  heart  so  fiendish.  Its  effect  on  the 
hearers  was  great,  but  very  different.  Crawley  recoiled,  not 
violently,  but  like  a  serpent  on  which  water  had  been  poured ; 
but  brutus  broke  into  a  rapture  of  admiration,  exultation, 
gratified  hate. 

"Bless  you !  bless  you !"  cried  he  with  a  violence  more 
horrible  than  his  curses ;  "you  warm  my  heart — you  are  a  pal. 

What  a  headpiece  you  have  got !     you,  Smith,  have  you 

nothing  to  say?     Isn't  this  a  dodge  out  of  the  common?" 

Now  for  the  last  minute  or  two  Crawley's  eyes  had  been 
fixed  with  a  haggard  expression  on  a  distant  corner  of  the 
room.  He  did  not  move  them;  he  appeared  hardly  to  have 
the  power,  but  he  answered,  dropping  the  words  down  on  the 
table  anywhere,  "Ye — yes !  it  is  very  inge-nious,  ah !" 

Mephisto. — We  must  buy  the  turpentine  directly;  there  is 
only  one  store  sells  it,  and  that  shuts  at  nine. 

Brutus. — Do  you  hear,  Smith ;  hand  us  out  the  blunt. 

Crawley. — Oh,  ugh !  and  his  eyes  seemed  fascinated  to  that 
spot. 

Brutus  (following  Crawley's  eye  uneasily). — What  is  the 
matter  ? 

Crawley. — Lo-o-o-k  the-r-e !  No !  on  your  right.  Oh,  his. 
tail  is  in  the  fire ! 

Brutus. — Whose  tail  ?  don't  be  a  fool ! 

Crawley. — And  it  doesn't  bum ! !  Oh,  it  burns  blacker  in 
the  fire ! — Ah,  ah !  now  the  eyes  have  caught  fire — diamonds 
full  of  hell !  They  blast !  Ah !  now  the  teeth  have  caught 
light — red-hot  nails.  The  mouth  is  as  big  as  the  table,  gap- 
ing wider,  wider,  wider.     Ah  !  ah  !  ah ! 

Brutus. him ;  I  won't  stay  in  the  room  with  such  a 

fellow ;  he  makes  my  blood  run  cold.     Has  he  cut  his  father's 
throat  in  a  church,  or  what? 

Crawley  (shrieking). — Oh,  don't  go;  oh.  my  dear  friends, 
don't  leave  me  alone  with  it  !     My  dear  friends,  you  sit  down 

627 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

right  upon  it — that  sends  it  away.  And  Crawley  hid  his 
face,  and  pointed  wildly  to  whereabouts  they  were  to  sit  upon 
the  phantom. 

Brutus. — Come,  it  is  gone  now ;  was  forced  nearly  to 
squash  it  first,  though,  haw !  haw !  haw ! 

Crawley. — Yes,  it  is  gone,  thank  Heaven.  I'll  give  up 
drinking. 

Brutus. — So  now  fork  out  the  blunt  for  the  turps. 

Crawley. — No !  I  will  give  no  money  towards  murder — 
robbery  is  bad  enough.  Where  shall  we  all  go  to?  And  he 
rose  and  went  out,  muttering  something  about  "a  little 
brandy." 

Brutus. — The  sneak !  to  fail  us  at  the  pinch.  I'll  wring 
his  neck  round.     What  is  this? — five  pounds. 

Mephisto. — Don't  you  see  the  move?  He  won't  give  it  us 
— conscience  forbids ;  but  if  we  are  such  rogues  as  take  it,  no 
questions  asked. 

"The  tarnation  hypocrite,"  roared  brutus  with  disgust, — 
hypocrisy  was  the  one  vice  he  was  innocent  of — out  of  gaol. 
Mephistopheles  stole  Crawley's  money  left  for  that  purpose, 
and  went  and  bought  a  four-gallon  cask  of  turpentine. 

Brutus  remained  and  sharpened  an  old  cutlass,  the  only 
weapon  he  had  got  left.  Crawley  and  mephistopheles  re- 
turned almost  together.  Crawley  produced  a  bottle  of 
brandy. 

"Now,"  said  he  to  mephistopheles,  "I  don't  dispute  your 
ingenuity,  my  friend,  but  suppose  while  we  have  been  talk- 
ing the  men  have  struck  their  tent  and  gone  away,  nugget 
and  all  ?" 

The  pair  looked  terribly  blank.  "What  fools  we  were  not 
to  think  of  that."  Crawley  kept  them  in  pain  a  moment  or 
two, 

"Well,  they  have  not,"  said  he ;  "I  have  been  to  look." 

"Well  done,"  cried  mephistopheles. 

"Well,  done,"  cried  brutus,  gasping  for  breath. 

"There  is  their  tent  all  right." 

"How  near  did  you  go  to  it?" 

"Near  enough  to  hear  their  voices  muttering." 

"When  does  the  moon  rise  to-night?" — "She  is  rising 
now." 

628 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"When  does  she  go  down?" — "Soon  after  two  o'clock.' 
"Will  you  take  a  share  of  the  work,  Smith  ?" 
"Heaven  forbid !" 


CHAPTER   LXXV 

IT  was  a  gusty  night.  The  moon  had  gone  down.  The 
tents  gleamed  indistinct  in  form,  but  white  as  snow. 
Robinson's  tent  stood  a  little  apart  among  a  number  of  de- 
serted claims,  some  of  them  dry,  but  most  of  them  with  three 
or  four  feet  of  water  in  them.  There  was,  however,  one 
large  tent  about  twenty  yards  from  Robinson's.  A  man  crept 
on  his  stomach  up  to  this  tent  and  listened ;  he  then  joined 
another  man  who  stood  at  some  distance,  and  whose  form 
seemed  gigantic  in  the  dim  starlight.  "All  right,"  said  the 
spy ;  "they  are  all  fast  as  dormice,  snoring  like  hogs ;  no  fear 
from  them." 

"Go  to  work,  then,"  whispered  brutus ;  "do  your  part." 

Mephistopheles  laid  a  deep  iron  dish  upon  the  ground,  and 
removed  the  bung  from  the  turpentine  cask  and  poured. 
"Confound  the  wind !  how  it  wastes  the  stuff,"  cried  he. 

He  now  walked  on  tiptoe  past  Robinson's  tent,  and  scat- 
tered the  turpentine  with  a  bold  sweep,  so  that  it  fell  light  as 
rain  over  a  considerable  surface.  A  moment  of  anxiety  suc- 
ceeded; would  their  keen  antagonists  hear  even  that  slight 
noise  ?     No  !  no  one  stirred  in  the  tent. 

Mephistopheles  returned  to  the  cask,  and,  emboldened  by 
success,  brought  it  nearer  the  doomed  tent.  Six  times  he 
walked  past  the  windward  side  of  the  tent,  and  scattered  the 
turpentine  over  it.  It  was  at  the  other  side  his  difficulties 
began. 

The  first  time  he  launched  the  liquid,  the  wind  took  it  and 
returned  it  nearly  all  in  his  face  and  over  his  clothes.  Scarce 
a  drop  reached  the  tent. 

The  next  time  he  went  up  closer  with  a  beating  heart,  and 
flung  it  sharper.  This  time  full  two-thirds  went  upon  the 
tent,  and  only  a  small  quantity  came  back  like  spray.  By  the 
time  the  cask  was  emptied  the  tent  was  saturated.  Then  this 
wretch  passed  the  tent  yet  once  more,  and  scattered  a  small 

629 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

quantity  of  oil  to  make  the  flame  more  durable  and  deadly. 

"Now  it  is  my  turn,"  whispered  brutus.  "I  thought  it 
would  never  come." 

What  is  that  figure  crouching  and  crawling  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  to  windward?  It  is  the  caitiff  Crawley,  who, 
after  peremptorily  declining  to  have  anything  to  do  with  this 
hellish  act,  has  crept  furtively  after  them,  partly  to  play  the 
spy  on  them,  for  he  suspects  they  will  lie  to  him  about  the 
gold,  partly  urged  by  curiosity.  He  could  see  nothing  at 
that  distance  but  the  dark  body  of  mephistopheles  passing 
at  intervals  between  him  and  the  white  tent.  He  shivered 
with  cold  and  terror  at  the  crime  about  to  be  done,  and  quiv- 
ered with  impatience  that  it  was  so  long  a  doing. 

The  assassins  now  divided  their  force ;  mephistopheles  took- 
his  station  to  leeward  of  the  tent;  brutus  to  windward. 

Crawley  saw  a  sudden  spark  upon  the  ground ;  it  was  bru- 
tus striking  a  lucifer-match  against  his  heel.  With  this  he 
lighted  a  piece  of  tow,  and  running  along  the  tent,  he  left  a 
line  of  fire  behind  him,  and  awaited  the  result,  his  cutlass 
griped  in  his  hand  and  his  teeth  clinched. 

Crawley  saw  that  line  of  fire  come,  and  then  creep,  and 
then  rise,  and  then  roar,  and  shoot  up  into  a  great  column 
of  fire  thirty  feet  high,  roaring  and  blazing  and  turning  night 
into  day  all  around.  Simultaneously  with  this  tremendous 
burst  of  fire  and  light,  which  startled  Crawley  by  bringing 
him  in  a  moment  into  broad  daylight,  he  saw  rise  from  the 
earth  a  black  figure  with  a  fiendish  face. 

At  this  awful  sight  the  conscience-stricken  wretch  fell  flat 
and  tried  to  work  into  the  soil  like  a  worm.  Nor  did  he  re- 
cover any  portion  of  his  presence  of  mind  till  he  heard  a 
shrill  whoop,  savage  and  soul-chilling,  but  mortal,  and  look- 
ing up,  saw  Kalingalunga  go  bounding  down  upon  brutus 
with  gigantic  leaps,  his  tomahawk  whirling. 

Crawley  cowered  like  a  hare  and  watched.  Brutus,  sur- 
prised but  not  dismayed,  wheeled  round  and  faced  the  sav- 
age, cutlass  in  hand.  He  parried  a  fierce  blow  of  the  toma- 
hawk, and  with  his  left  struck  Kalingalunga  on  the  temple, 
and  knocked  him  backwards  half  a  dozen  yards.  The  elastic 
savage  recovered  himself,  and  danced  like  a  fiend  round  bru- 
tus in  the  red  light  of  the  blazing  tent. 

630 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Warned  by  that  strange  blow  strait^ht  from  the  armpit,  a 
blow  entirely  new  to  him,  he  came  on  with  more  deadly  cau- 
tion, eyes  and  teeth  bude-lights,  and  brutus  felt  a  chill  for  a 
moment,  but  it  speedily  turned  to  rage.  Now  as  the  combat- 
ants each  prepared  to  strike  again,  screams  suddenly  issued 
from  the  other  side  the  tent,  so  wild,  despairing,  and  unnat- 
ural, as  to  suspend  their  arms  for  a  moment.  They  heard, 
but  saw  nothing,  only  the  savage  heart  of  brutus  found  time 
to  exult, — his  enemies  were  perishing.  But  Crawley  saw  as 
well  as  heard.  A  pillar  of  flame  eight  feet  high  burst  out 
from  behind  the  tent,  and  ran  along  the  ground.  From  that 
conical  flame  issued  those  appalling  shrieks — it  was  a  man  on 
fire.  The  living  flame  ran  but  a  few  steps,  then  disappeared 
from  the  earth,  and  the  screams  ceased.  Apparently  the  fire 
had  not  only  killed,  but  annihilated  its  prey,  and  so  itself. 
Crawley  sickened  with  horror,  and  for  a  moment  with  re- 
morse. 

But  already  brutus  and  Kalingalunga  were  fighting  again 
by  the  light  of  the  burning  tent.  They  closed,  and  this  time 
blood  flowed  on  both  sides.  The  savage,  by  a  skilful  feint, 
cut  brutus  on  the  flesh  of  the  left  shoulder,  but  not  deep,  and 
brutus  once  more  surprised  the  savage  by  delivering  point 
with  his  cutlass,  and  inflicted  a  severe  graze  on  the  ribs. 

At  the  sight  of  his  enemy's  blood  brutus  followed  up  and 
aimed  a  fierce  blow  at  Kalingalunga's  head;  he  could  not 
have  made  a  more  useless  attack.  The  savage  bore  on  his 
left  arm  a  shield,  so  called ;  it  was  but  three  inches  broad  and 
two  feet  long,  but  skill  and  practice  had  made  it  an  impene- 
trable defence.  He  received  the  cutlass  on  his  shield  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  simultaneously  delivered  his  tomahawk 
on  brutus'  unguarded  head,  brutus  went  down  under  the 
blow  and  rolled  over  on  his  face. 

The  crouching  spectator  of  this  terrible  combat  by  the  de- 
caying light  of  the  tent  heard  the  hard  blow  and  saw  the 
white  man  roll  upon  the  ground.  Then  he  saw  the  toma- 
hawk twice  lifted  and  twice  descend  upon  the  man's  back  as 
he  lay.  The  next  moment  the  savage  came  running  from  the 
tent  at  his  utmost  speed. 

Crawley's  first  thought  was  that  assistance  had  come  to 
brutus;  his  next  was  a  terrible  one.     The  savage  had  first 

631 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

risen  from  the  earth  at  a  spot  between  the  tent  and  him. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  watching  both  him  and  the  tent.  A 
moment  of  horrible  uncertainty,  and  then  Crawley  yielded 
to  his  instinct  and  ran.  A  terrible  whoop  behind  told  him 
he  was  indeed  to  be  the  next  victim.  He  ran  for  dear  life ; 
no  one  would  have  believed  he  could  shamble  along  at  the 
rate  he  did.  His  tent  was  half  a  mile  off;  he  would  be  a 
dead  man  long  ere  he  could  reach  it.  He  turned  his  yelling 
head  as  he  ran  to  see.  The  fleet  savage  had  already  dimin- 
ished the  distance  between  them  by  half.  Crawley  now  filled 
the  air  with  despairing  cries  for  help.  A  large  tent  was  be- 
fore him ;  he  knew  not  whose,  but  certain  death  was  behind 
him.  He  made  for  the  tent.  If  he  could  but  reach  it  before 
the  death-stroke  was  given  him.  Yes,  it  is  near !  No,  it  is 
white  and  looks  closer  than  it  is.  A  whoop  sounded  in  his 
ears ;  it  seemed  to  ring  inside  his  head,  it  was  so  near.  He 
flung  himself  yelling  with  terror  at  the  wall  of  the  tent.  An 
aperture  gave  way.  A  sharp  cut  as  with  a  whip  seemed  to 
sting  him,  and  he  was  on  his  knees  in  the  middle  of  the  tent 
howling  for  mercy,  first  to  the  savage,  who  he  made  sure 
was  standing  over  him  with  his  tomahawk ;  then  to  a  man 
who  got  him  by  the  throat  and  pressed  a  pistol  barrel  cold  as 
an  icicle  to  his  cheek. 

"Mercy !  mercy !  the  savage !  he  is  killing  me !  murder ! 
murder !  help !" 

"Who  are  you?"  roared  the  man,  shaking  him. 

"Oh,  stop  him !  he  will  kill  me !  Shoot  him  !  Don't  shoot 
me !  I  am  a  respectable  man.  It  is  the  savage !  kill  him ! 
He  is  at  the  door — please  kill  him !  I'll  give  you  a  hundred 
pounds !" 

"What  is  to  do?     The  critter  is  mad!" 

"There !  there !  you  will  see  a  savage !  Shoot  him !  kill 
him !  For  pity's  sake  kill  him,  and  I'll  tell  you  all !  I  am 
respectable.     I'll  give  you  a  hundred  pounds  to  kill  him !" 

"Why,  it  is  Smith,  that  gives  us  all  a  treat  at  times." 

"Don't  I !  Oh,  my  dear  good  friend,  he  has  killed  me ! 
He  came  after  me  with  his  tomahawk.  Have  pity  on  a  re- 
spectable man  and  kill  him  !" 

The  man  went  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  sure  enough 
there  was  Jacky,  who  had  retired  to  some  distance.     The 

632 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

man  fired  at  him  with  as  little  ceremony  as  he  would  at  a 
glass  bottle,  and,  as  was  to  be  expected,  missed  him ;  but 
Jacky,  who  had  a  wholesome  horror  of  the  make-thunders, 
ran  off  directly,  and  went  to  hack  the  last  vestiges  of  life  out 
of  brutus. 

Crawley  remained  on  his  knees  howling  and  whimpering 
so  piteously  that  the  man  took  pity  on  this  abject  personage. 

"Have  a  drop,  Mr.  Smith ;  you  have  often  give  me  one — 
there !     I'll  strike  a  light." 

The  man  struck  a  light  and  fixed  a  candle  in  a  socket.  He 
fumbled  in  a  corner  for  the  bottle,  and  was  about  to  offer  it 
to  Crawley,  when  he  was  arrested  by  a  look  of  silent  horror 
on  his  visitor's  face. 

"Why,  what  is  wrong  now?" 

"Look !  look !  look !"  cried  Crawley,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  "Here  it  comes !  there  is  its  tail !  Soon  its  eyes 
and  teeth  will  catch  light !  It  knows  the  work  we  have  been 
at.     Ah !  ah  !  ah  !" 

The  man  looked  round  very  uneasily.  Crawley's  way  of 
pointing  and  glaring  over  one's  head  at  some  object  behind 
one  was  anvthing  but  encouraging. 

"What?  where>' 

"There !  there !  coming  through  the  side  of  the  tent.  It 
can  come  through  a  wall !"  and  Crawley  shook  from  head  to 
foot. 

"Why,  that  is  your  own  shadow,"  said  the  mfan.  "Why, 
what  a  faint-hearted  one  to  shake  at  your  own  shadow !" 

"My  shadow  !"  cried  Crawley ;  "Heaven  forbid !  Have  I 
got  a  tail?"  screeched  Crawley  reproachfully. 

"That  you  have,"  said  the  man,  "now  I  look  at  you  full." 

Crawley  clapped  his  hand  behind  him,  and  to  his  horror  he 
had  a  tail! 


CHAPTER   LXXVI. 

CRAWLEY,  who.  what  with  the  habit  of  cerebral  hallu- 
cination due  to  brandy  and  the  present  flutter  of  his 
spirits  and  his  conscience,  had  for  a  moment  or  two  lost  all 
the  landmarks  of  probability,  no  sooner  felt  his  hand  encoun- 

633 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

ter  a  tail,  slight  in  size,  but  stiff  as  a  pug's,  and  straight  as  a 
pointer's,  than  he  uttered  a  dismal  howl,  and  it  is  said  that 
for  a  single  moment  he  really  suspected  premature  caudation 
had  been  inflicted  on  him  for  his  crimes.  But  such  delusions 
are  short-lived.  He  slewed  himself  round  after  this  tail  in 
his  efforts  to  see  it,  and  squinting  over  his  shoulder  he  did  see 
it;  and  a  warm  liquid  which  he  now  felt  stealing  down  his 
legs  and  turning  cold  as  it  went  opened  his  eyes  still  farther. 
It  was  a  reed  spear  sticking  in  his  person — sticking  tight. 
Jacky,  who  had  never  got  so  near  him  as  he  fancied,  saw  him 
about  to  get  into  a  tent,  and  unable  to  tomahawk  him,  did 
the  best  he  could — flung  a  light  javelin  with  such  force  and 
address  that  it  pierced  his  coat  and  trousers  and  buried  half 
its  head  in  his  flesh. 

This  spear-head,  made  of  jagged  fish-bones,  had  to  be  cut 
out  by  the  simple  and  agreeable  process  of  making  all  round 
it  a  hole  larger  than  itself.  The  operation  served  to  occupy 
Crawley  for  the  remaining  part  of  the  night,  and  exercised 
his  vocal  powers.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  smarted  in 
his  penetrable  part — the  skin — and  it  made  him  very  spiteful. 
Away  went  his  compunction,  and  at  peep  of  day  he  shambled 
out  very  stiff,  no  longer  dreading,  but  longing  to  hear  which 
of  his  enemies  it  was  he  had  seen  wrapped  in  flame,  shriek- 
ing, and  annihilated  like  the  snuff  of  a  candle.  He  came  to 
the  scene  of  action  just  as  the  sun  rose. 

But  others  were  there  before  him.  A  knot  of  men 
stood  round  a  black  patch  of  scorched  soil,  round  which 
were  scattered  little  fragments  of  canvas  burned  to 
tinder,  talking  over  a  most  mysterious  affair  of  the  night 
past. 

It  came  out  that  the  patrol,  some  of  whom  were  present, 
had  been  ordered  by  Captain  Robinson  not  to  go  their  rounds 
as  usual,  but  to  watch  in  a  tent  near  his  own,  since  he  ex- 
pected an  attack.  Accustomed  to  keep  awake  on  the  move, 
but  not  in  a  recumbent  posture,  they  had  slept  the  sleep  of 
infancy  till  suddenly  awakened  by  the  sound  of  a  pistol. 
Then  they  had  run  out  and  found  the  captain's  tent  in  ashes, 
and  a  man  lying  near  it  sore  hacked  and  insensible,  but  still 
breathing.  They  had  taken  him  to  their  tent,  but  he  had 
never  spoken,  and  the  affair  was  incomprehensible.     While 

634 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

each  was  giving  some  wild  opinion  or  another,  a  faint  voice 
issued  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  invoking  aid. 

Several  ran  to  the  spot,  and  at  the  bottom  of  an  old  claim 
full  thirty  feet  deep  they  discovered,  on  looking  intently 
down,  the  face  of  a  man  rising  out  of  the  clayey  water.  They 
lowered  ropes  and  hauled  him  up. 

"How  did  you  come  there,  mate?" 

He  had  come  into  the  camp  in  the  dark,  and  not  knowing 
the  ground,  and  having  (to  tell  the  truth)  had  a  drop,  he 
had  fallen  into  the  claim. 

He  was  asked  with  an  air  of  suspicion  how  long  ago  this 
had  happened. 

"More  than  an  hour,"  replied  the  wily  one. 

Crawley  looked  at  him,  and  being,  unlike  the  others,  ac- 
quainted with  the  man's  features,  saw,  spite  of  the  clay-bake 
he  was  enveloped  in,  that  his  whiskers  were  frizzled  to  noth- 
ing and  his  fiendish  eyebrows  gone.  Then  a  sickening  sus- 
picion crept  over  him;  he  communicated  it  by  a  look  to 
mephistopheles. 

Acting  on  it,  he  asked,  with  an  artful  appearance  of  friend- 
ly interest,  "But  the  men?  the  poor  men  that  were  in  the 
tent  ?" 

"What!  the  captain  and  his  mate?" 

"Yes !" 

"Why,  ye  fool !  they  are  half-way  to  Sydney  by  now." 

"Half-way  to  Sydney  ?"  and  a  ghastly  look  passed  between 
the  speaker  and  mephistopheles. 

"Ay,  lad !  they  rode  off  on  Moore's  two  best  nags  at  mid- 
night." 

"The  captain  had  a  belt  round  his  waist  crammed  with 
dust  and  bank-notes,"  cried  another,  "and  the  farmer  a  nug- 
get as  big  as  a  pumpkin  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle." 

Four  hours  had  not  elapsed  ere  Crawley  and  mephistophe- 
les were  on  the  road  to  Sydney,  but  not  on  horseback.  Craw- 
ley had  no  longer  funds  to  buy  two  horses,  and,  even  if  he 
had,  he  could  not  have  borne  the  saddle  after  the  barbarous 
surgery  of  last  night — the  lance-head  was  cut  out  with  a 
cheese-knife.  But  he  and  mephistopheles  joined  a  company 
of  successful  diggers  going  down  with  their  swag.  On  the 
road  they  constantly  passed  smaller  parties  of  unfortunate 

635 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

diggers,  who  had  left  the  mine  in  despair  when  the  weather 
broke  and  the  claims  filled  with  water ;  and  the  farther  they 
went  the  more  wretched  was  the  condition  of  those  they  over- 
took, ragged,  shoeless,  hungry,  foot-sore,  heart-sore,  poor 
broken  pilgrims  from  the  shrine  of  mammon. 

Now  it  befell  that,  forty  miles  on  this  side  Sydney,  they 
fell  in  with  seven  such  ragged  spectres,  and  while  they  were 
giving  these  a  little  food,  up  came  from  the  city  a  large  joy- 
ful party,  the  eagerness  of  hope  and  cupidity  on  their  faces. 

"Hallo !  are  they  mad  ?  going  up  to  the  diggings  in  the  wet 
weather  ?" 

They  were  questioned. 

A  hundredweight  of  gold  had  been  found  at  the  diggings, 
and  all  the  town  was  turning  out  to  find  some  more  such 
prizes ;  and,  in  fact,  every  mile  after  this  they  met  a  party, 
great  or  small,  ardent,  sanguine  on  an  almost  hopeless  errand. 

Such  is  the  strange  and  fatal  no-logic  of  speculation.  For 
us  the  rare  is  to  turn  common,  and,  when  we  have  got  it,  be 
rare  as  ever. 

mephistopheles  and  Crawley  parted  at  the  suburb ;  the  for- 
mer was  to  go  to  certain  haunts  and  form  a  gang  to  seize 
the  rich  prize.  Meantime  Crawley  would  enter  the  town 
and  discover  where  the  men  were  lodging.  If  in  an  inn,  one 
of  the  gang  must  go  there  as  a  well-dressed  traveller  and 
watch  his  opportunity.     If  in  a  lodging,  other  means. 

Crawley  found  the  whole  city  ringing  with  the  great  nug- 
get. Crawley  put  eager  questions  and  received  ready  an- 
swers. He  was  shown  the  bank  up  to  which  the  men  had 
ridden  in  broad  daylight ;  the  one  on  the  big  horse  had  the 
nugget  on  his  saddle ;  they  had  taken  it  and  broken  it  and 
weighed  it  and  sold  it  in  the  bank  parlour  for  three  thousand 
eight  hundred  pounds. 

Crawley  did  not  like  this ;  he  had  rather  they  had  not  con- 
verted it  into  paper.  His  next  question  was  whether  it  was 
known  where  the  men  lodged. 

"Known,  I  believe  you !  Why,  they  are  more  thought  of 
than  the  governor.  Everybody  runs  to  get  a  word  with 
them,  gentle  or  simple.     You  will  find  them  at  the  'Ship'  inn." 

To  the  "Ship"  went  Crawley.  He  dared  not  be  too  direct 
in  his  queries,  so  he  put  them  in  form  of  a  statement. 

636 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"You  have  got  some  lucky  ones  here  that  found  the  great 
nugget  ?" 

"Well,  we  had;  but  they  are  gone — been  gone  this  two 
hours.     Do  you  know  them?" 

"Yes,"  said  Crawley,  without  fear  as  they  were  gone. 
"Where  are  they  gone,  do  you  know?" 

"Why,  home,  I  suppose.  You  chaps  make  your  money 
out  of  us,  but  you  all  run  home  to  spend  it." 

"What,  gone  to  England !"  gasped  Crawley. 

"Ay!  look!  there  is  the  ship  just  being  towed  out  of  the 
harbour." 

Crawley  shambled  and  tore  and  ran,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  the  two  friends  standing  with  beaming  faces  on  the 
vessel's  deck  as  she  glided  out  on  her  voyage  home. 

He  sat  down  half-stupid ;  mephistopheles  went  on  collect- 
ing his  gang  in  the  suburbs. 

The  steamer  cast  ofif.  and  came  wheeling  back ;  the  ship 
spread  her  huge  white  plumage,  and  went  proudly  off  to  sea, 
the  blue  waves  breaking  white  under  her  bows.  Crawley  sat 
glaring  at  all  this  in  a  state  of  mental  collapse. 


CHAPTER    LXXVII. 

THUS  have  I  told  in  long  and  tedious  strains  how 
George  Fielding  went  to  Australia  to  make  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  how  by  industry,  sobriety,  and  cattle,  he 
did  not  make  a  thousand  pounds,  and  how,  aided  with  the 
help  of  a  converted  thief,  this  honest  fellow  did  by  gold- 
digging,  industry,  and  sobriety  make  several  thousand 
pounds,  and  take  them  safe  away  home,  spite  of  many 
wicked  devices  and  wicked  men. 

Thus  have  I  told  how  Mr.  Meadows  flung  out  his  left 
hand  into  Australia  to  keep  George  from  coming  back  to 
Susan  with  a  thousand  pounds,  and  how,  spite  of  one  stroke 
of  success,  his  left  hand  eventually  failed,  and  failed  com- 
pletely. 

But  his  right? 


637 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER   LXXVIII. 

JOYOUS  as  the  first  burst  of  summer  were  the  months 
Susan  passed  after  the  receipt  of  George's  happy  letter. 
Many  warm  feelings  combined  in  one  stream  of  happiness 
in  Susan's  heart.  Perhaps  the  keenest  of  all  was  pride  at 
George's  success.  Nobody  could  laugh  at  George  now  and 
insult  her  again  there  where  she  was  most  sensitive,  by  tell- 
ing her  that  George  was  not  good  enough  for  her  or  any 
woman;  and  even  those  who  set  such  store  upon  money- 
making  would  have  to  confess  that  George  could  do  even 
that  for  love  of  her,  as  well  as  they  could  do  it  for  love  of 
themselves.  Next  to  this  her  joy  was  greatest  at  the  pros- 
pect of  his  speedy  return. 

And  now  she  became  joyfully  impatient  for  further  news, 
but  not  disappointed  at  his  silence  till  two  months  had  passed 
without  another  letter ;  then  indeed  anxiety  mingled  now  and 
then  with  her  happiness.  Then  it  was  that  Meadows,  slowly 
and  hesitatingly  to  the  last,  raised  his  hand  and  struck  the 
first  direct  blow  at  her  heart.  He  struck  in  the  dark — he 
winced  for  her  both  before  and  after;  yet  he  struck.  One 
market-day  a  whisper  passed  through  Farnborough  that 
George  Fielding  had  met  with  wonderful  luck.  That  he  had 
made  his  fortune  by  gold,  and  was  going  to  marry  a  young 
lady  out  in  Australia.  Farmer  Merton  brought  the  whisper 
home ;  Meadows  was  sure  he  would. 

Meadows  did  not  come  to  the  house  for  some  days.  He 
half  feared  to  look  upon  his  work ;  to  see  Susan's  face  agon- 
ised under  his  blow.  At  last  he  came;  he  watched  her  by 
stealth.  He  found  he  might  have  spared  his  qualms.  She 
chatted  as  usual  in  very  good  spirits,  and  just  before  he  went 
she  told  him  the  report  with  a  smile  of  ineffable  scorn.  She 
was  simple,  unsuspicious,  and  every  way  without  a  shield 
against  a  Meadows,  but  the  loyal  heart  by  its  own  virtue  had 
turned  the  dagger's  edge. 

A  week  after  this  Jefferies  brought  Meadows  a  letter;  it 
was  from  Susan  to  George.  Meadows  read  it  writhing;  it 
breathed  kind  affection,  with  one  or  two  demi-maternal  cau- 
tions about  his  health,  and  to  be  very  prudent  for  her  sake : 

6?8 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

not  a  word  of  doubt;  there  was,  however,  a  postscript  of 
which  the  following  is  the  exact  wording : — 

"PS.  It  is  all  over  Farnborough  that  you  are  going  to  be 
married  to  some  one  in  Australia." 

Two  months  more  passed  and  no  letter  from  George. 
These  two  months  told  upon  Susan ;  she  fretted  and  became 
restless  and  irritable,  and  cold  misgivings  crept  over  her  and 
the  anguish  of  suspense. 

At  last  one  day  she  unbosomed  herself,  though  with  hesi- 
tation, to  a  warm  and  disinterested  friend ;  blushing  all  over 
with  tearful  eyes,  she  confessed  her  grief  to  Mr.  Meadows. 
"Don't  tell  father,  sir ;  I  hide  my  trouble  from  him  as  well  as 
I  can,  but  what  does  it  mean  George  not  writing  to  me  these 
four  months  and  three  days?  Do  pray  tell  me  what  does  it 
mean !"  and  Susan  cried  so  piteously  that  Meadows  winced 
at  his  success.  "Oh,  Mr.  Meadows,  don't  flatter  me ;  tell  me 
the  truth."  While  he  was  exulting  in  her  firmness  who  de- 
manded the  truth,  bitter  or  not,  she  continued,  "Only  don't 
tell  me  that  I  am  forgotten !"  And  she  looked  so  piteously 
in  the  oracle's  face  that  he  forgot  everything  in  the  desire  to 
say  something  she  would  like  him  the  better  for  saying.  He 
muttered,  "Perhaps  he  has  sailed  for  home."  He  expected 
her  to  say  "And  if  he  has,  he  would  have  written  to  me  be- 
fore sailing."  But  instead  of  this  Susan  gave  a  little  cry  of 
joy. 

"Ah !  how  fullish  I  have  been !  Mr.  Meadows,  you  are  a 
friend  out  of  a  thousand ;  you  are  as  wise  as  I  am  fulHsh. 
Poor  George !  you  will  never  let  him  know  I  was  so  wicked 
as  to  doubt  him."  And  Susan  brightened  with  joy  and  hope. 
The  heart  believes  so  readily  the  thing  it  longs  should  be 
true.     She  was  happy  all  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Meadows  went  away  mad  with  her  for  her  folly,  and  with 
himself  for  his  feebleness  of  purpose,  and  next  market-day 
again  the  whisper  went  round  the  market  that  George  Field- 
ing was  going  to  marry  out  there.  This  time  a  detail  was 
sketched  in  :  it  was  a  lady  in  the  town  of  Bathurst.  Old 
Merton  brought  this  home  and  twitted  his  daughter.  She  an- 
swered haughtily  that  it  was  a  falsehood.  She  would  stake 
her  life  on  George's  fidelity. 

"See,  Mr.  Meadows,  they  are  all  against  poor  George,  all 

639 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

except  you.  But  what  does  it  mean?  If  he  does  not  write 
or  come  soon,  I  think  I  shall  go  mad." 

"Report  is  a  common  liar ;  I  would  not  believe  anything 
till  I  saw  it  in  black  and  white,"  said  Meadows  doggedly. 

"No  more  I  will." 

Soon  after  this  William  Fielding  had  a  talk  with  Susan. 

"Have  you  heard  a  report  about  George?" 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  a  rumour." 

"You  don't  believe  it,  I  hope?" — "Why  should  I  believe 
it?" 

"I  am  going  to  trace  it  up  to  the  liar  that  forged  it,  if  I 
can." 

Susan  suppressed  her  satisfaction  at  this  resolution  of  Will 
Fielding's. 

"Is  it  worth  while?"  asked  she  coldly. 

"If  I  didn't  think  so  I  shouldn't  take  that  much  trouble, 
not  expecting  any  thanks." 

"Have  I  said  anything  to  offend  you?"  asked  Susan  with  a 
still  more  frigid  tone. 

The  other  did  not  trust  himself  to  answer.  But  two  days 
after  he  came  again  and  told  her  he  had  written  a  letter  to 
George,  telling  him  what  reports  were  about,  and  begging 
for  an  answer  whether  or  not  there  was  any  truth  in  them. 
A  gleam  of  satisfaction  from  Susan's  eyes,  but  not  a  word. 
This  man,  who  had  once  been  George's  rival  at  heart,  was  the 
last  to  whom  she  would  openly  acknowledge  her  doubts. 
Then  Will  went  on  to  tell  her  that  he  had  traced  the  rumour 
from  one  to  another  up  to  a  stranger  whose  name  nobody 
knew,  "but  I  daresay  Mr.  Meadows  has  a  notion." — "No !" 

"Are  you  sure  ?" — "Yes  ;  he  would  have  told  me  if  he  had." 

William  gave  a  snort  of  incredulity,  and  hinted  that  prob- 
ably Mr.  Meadows  himself  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  scandal. 

Now  Meadows's  artful  conduct  had  fortified  Susan  against 
such  a  suspicion,  and  being  by  nature  a  warm-hearted  friend, 
she  fired  up  for  him,  as  she  would  have  for  Mr.  Eden,  or 
even  for  poor  Will  in  his  absence.  She  did  it  too  in  the  most 
womanish  way.  She  did  not  tell  the  young  man  that  she  had 
consulted  Mr.  Meadows,  and  that  he  had  constantly  discred- 
ited the  report  and  set  her  against  believing  it.  Had  she 
done  this,  she  would  have  staggered  the  simple-minded  Will. 

640 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

But  no;  she  said  to  herself,  "He  has  attacked  a  good  friend 
of  mine ;  I  won't  satisfy  him  so  far  as  to  give  him  reasons," 
so  she  merely  snubbed  him. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  are  set  against  poor  Mr.  Meadows ;  he  is 
a  good  friend  of  ours,  of  my  father  and  me,  and  of  George 
too." 

"I  wish  you  may  not  have  to  alter  your  mind,"  sneered 
William. 

"I  will  not  without  a  reason." 

"I  will  give  you  a  reason :  do  you  remember  that  day " 

"When  you  insulted  him  in  his  own  house,  and  me  into  the 
bargain.  Will?" 

"Not  you,  Susan,  leastways  I  hope  not,  but  him  I  did,  and 
am  just  as  like  to  do  it  again.  Well,  when  you  were  gone 
I  took  a  thought,  and  I  said,  'Appearances  deceive  the  wisest ; 
I  may  be  mistaken.'  " — "He  !  he  !" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  laughing  at;  and  then  says  I, 
'It  is  his  own  house  after  all,'  so  I  said,  'If  I  am  wrong,  and 
you  don't  mean  to  undermine  my  brother,  take  my  hand,'  and 
I  gave  it  him." — "And  he  refused  it?" 

"No,  Susan  !"— "Well,  then " 

"But,  Susan,"  said  William  solemnly,  "his  hand  lay  in  mine 
like  a  stone." — "Really  now  !" 

"A  lump  of  ice  would  be  as  near  the  mark." 

"Well,  is  that  the  reason  you  promised  me?" 

William  nodded. 

"William,  you  are  a  fool." 

"Oh,  I  am  a  fool  now !" 

"You  go  and  insult  a  man  your  superior  in  every  respect, 
and  the  very  next  moment  he  is  to  give  you  his  hand  as 
warmly  as  to  a  friend  and  an  equal.  You  really  are  too  full- 
ish  to  go  about  without  a  keeper,  and  if  it  was  in  any  man's 
power  to  set  me  against  poor  George  altogether,  you  have 
gone  the  way  to  do  it  this  twelvemonth  past;"  and  Susan 
closed  the  conference  abruptly. 

It  was  William's  fate  to  rivet  Meadows's  influence  by  every 
blow  he  aimed  at  it.  For  all  that  the  prudent  Meadows 
thought  it  worth  his  while  to  rid  himself  of  this  honest  and 
determined  foe.  and  he  had  already  taken  steps.  He  had 
discovered  that  this  last  month  William  Fielding,  returning 

"  641 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

from  market,  had  been  seen  more  than  once  to  stop  and  chat 
at  one  Mrs.  HoUday's,  a  retired  small  tradeswoman  in  Farn- 
borough.  Now  Mrs.  Holiday  was  an  old  acquaintance  of 
Meadows's,  and  had  given  him  sugar-plums  thirty  years  ago. 
It  suited  his  purpose  to  remember  all  of  a  sudden  these  old 
sugar-plums,  and  that  Mrs,  Holiday  had  lately  told  him  she 
wanted  to  get  out  of  the  town  and  end  her  days  upon  turf. 

There  was  a  cottage,  paddock,  and  garden  for  sale  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  "The  Grove."  Meadows  bought  them  a 
good  bargain,  and  offered  them  to  the  widow  at  a  very  mod- 
erate rent.  The  widow  was  charmed.  "Why,  we  can  keep  a 
cow,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"Well,  there  is  grass  enough." 

The  widow  took  the  cottage  with  enthusiasm. 

Mrs.  Holiday  had  a  daughter,  a  handsome — a  downright 
handsome  girl,  and  a  good  girl  into  the  bargain. 

Meadows  had  said  to  himself,  "It  is  not  the  old  woman 
Will  Fielding  goes  there  for.  Well,  she  will  want  some  one 
to  teach  her  how  to  farm  that  half-acre  of  grass,  and  buy 
the  cow  and  milk  her.  Friendly  offices — chat  coming  and 
going — come  in,  Mr.  Fielding,  and  taste  your  cow's  cream ! 
— and  when  he  has  got  a  lass  of  his  own,  his  eye  won't  be 
for  ever  on  mine." 

William's  letter  to  George  went  to  the  post-office,  and  from 
the  post-office  to  a  little  pile  of  intercepted  letters  in  Mead- 
ows's desk. 


CHAPTER  X.XXIX. 

NEARLY  eight  months  had  now  elapsed  without  a  letter 
from  George.  Susan  could  no  longer  deceive  herself 
with  hopes.  George  was  either  false  to  her  or  dead.  She 
said  as  much  to  her  false  friend.  This  inspired  him  with  an 
artifice  as  subtle  as  unscrupulous.  A  letter  had  been  brought 
to  him  by  Jefferies,  which  he  at  once  recognised  as  the 
planned  letter  from  Crawley  to  another  tool  of  his  in  Farn- 
borough.  This  very  day  he  set  about  a  report  that  George 
was  dead.  It  did  not  reach  Susan  so  soon  as  he  thought  it 
would,  for  old  Merton  hesitated  to  tell  her,  but  on  the  Sunday 

642 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

evening,  with  considerable  reluctance  and  misgivings,  he 
tried  in  a  very  clumsy  way  to  prepare  her  for  sad  news.  But 
her  mind  had  long  been  prepared  for  bitter  tidings.  Fancy 
eight  weary  months  spent  in  passing  every  possible  calamity 
before  her  imagination,  death  as  often  as  any. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  old  man.  "Father,  George  is 
dead !" 

Old  Merton  hung  his  head,  and  made  no  reply. 

That  was  enough.  Susan  crept  from  the  room  pale  as 
ashes.  She  tottered,  but  she  did  not  fall.  She  reached  her 
room  and  locked  herself  in. 


CHAPTER   LXXX. 

MR.  MEADOWS  did  not  visit  Grassmere  for  some 
days ;  the  cruel  one  distrusted  his  own  firmness. 
When  he  did  come,  he  came  with  a  distinct  purpose.  He 
found  Merton  alone. 

"Susan  sees  no  one.     You  have  heard?" — "What?" 

"Her  sweetheart !     He  is  dead." 

"Why,  how  can  that  be?     And  who  says  so?" 

"That  is  the  news." 

"Well,  it  is  a  falsehood,"  said  Mr.  Meadows  coolly. 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  it  might,"  whispered  old  IMerton,  "for 
she  won't  live  long  after  him." 

Mr.  Meadows  then  told  Merton  that  he  had  spoken  with  a 
man  who  had  got  news  of  George  Fielding  not  four  months 
old,  and  he  was  in  very  good  health." 

"Will  you  tell  Susan  this  ?"— "Certainly." 

Susan  was  called  down.  Meadows  started  at  the  sight  of 
her.  She  was  pale  and  hollow-eyed,  and  in  these  few  days 
seemed  ten  years  older.  She  w^as  dressed  all  in  black.  "I 
am  a  murderer !"  thought  he ;  and  remorse  without  one  grain 
of  honest  repentance  pierced  his  heart. 

"Speak  out,  John,"  said  the  father;  "the  girl  is  not  a  fool. 
She  has  borne  ill  news,  she  can  bear  good.  Can't  vou, 
Susan?" 

"Yes,  dear  father,  if  it  is  God's  will  any  good  news  should 
come  to  me."     And  she  never  took  her  eyes  off  I\Ir.  Mead- 

643 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

ows,  but  belied  her  assumed  firmness  by  quivering  like  an 
aspen-leaf. 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Griffin?"  asked  Meadows. 

"Yes!"  replied  Susan,  still  trembling  gently,  but  all  over. 

"He  has  got  a  letter  from  Sydney  from  a  little  roguish 
attorney  called  Crawley.  I  heard  him  say  with  my  own  ears 
that  Crawley  tells  him  he  had  just  seen  George  Fielding  in 
the  streets  of  Sydney  well  and  hearty." 

"You  are  deceiving  me  out  of  kindness"  (her  eyes  fixed 
on  his). 

"I  am  not.  I  wish  I  may  die  if  the  man  is  not  as  well  as 
I  am!" 

Her  eyes  were  never  off  his  face,  and  at  this  moment  she 
read  for  certain  that  it  was  true. 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  so  keen  it  was  painful  to  hear,  and 
then  she  laughed  and  cried  and  sank  into  a  chair  laughing 
and  crying  in  strong  hysterics,  that  lasted  till  the  poor  girl 
almost  fainted  with  exhaustion.  Her  joy  was  more  violent, 
and  even  terrible,  than  her  grief  had  been.  The  female  serv- 
ants were  called  to  assist  her,  and  old  Merton  and  Meadows 
left  her  in  their  hands,  feeble  but  calm  and  thankful.  She 
even  smiled  her  adieu  to  Meadows. 

The  next  day  Meadows  called  upon  Griffin.  "Let  me  look 
at  that  letter !"  said  he.     "I  want  to  copy  a  part  of  it." 

"There  has  been  one  here  before  you,"  said  Griffin. 

"Who?" — "She  would  not  give  her  name,  but  I  think  it 
must  have  been  Miss  Merton.  She  begged  me  hard  to  let 
her  see  the  letter.  I  told  her  she  might  take  it  home  with 
her.  Poor  thing!  she  gave  me  a  look  as  if  she  could  have 
eaten  me." 

"What  else?"  asked  Meadows  anxiously — his  success  had 
run  ahead  of  his  plot. — "She  put  it  in  her  bosom." 

"In  her  bosom?" — "Ay!  and  pressed  her  little  white  hands 
upon  it  as  if  she  had  got  a  treasure.  I  doubt  it  will  be  more 
like  the  asp  in  the  Bible  story,  eh !  sir  ?" 

"There!  I  don't  want  your  reflections,"  said  Meadows 
fiercely,  but  his  voice  quavered.  The  myrmidon  was  si- 
lenced. 

Susan  made  her  escape  into  a  field  called  the  Kynecroft, 
belonging  to  the  citizens,  and  there  she  read  the  letter.     It 

644 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

was  a  long  tiresome  one,  all  about  matters  of  business  which 
she  did  not  understand ;  it  was  only  at  the  last  page  that  she 
caught  sight  of  the  name  she  longed  to  see.  She  hurried 
down  to  it,  and  when  she  got  to  it  with  beating  heart  it  was 
the  fate  of  this  innocent  loving  woman  to  read  these  words — 

"What  luck  some  have !  There  is  George  Fielding  of  the 
'Grove  Farm'  has  made  his  fortune  at  the  gold,  and  married 
yesterday  to  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  Sydney.  I  met  them 
walking  in  the  street  to-day.  She  would  not  have  looked  at 
him  but  for  the  gold." 

Susan  uttered  a  faint  moan  and  sank  down  slowly  on  her 
knees  like  some  tender  tree  felled  by  a  rude  stroke ;  her  eyes 
seemed  to  swim  in  a  mist,  she  tried  to  read  the  cruel  words 
again  but  could  not ;  she  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes." 

"He  is  alive !"  she  said ;  "thank  God  he  is  alive" — and  at 
last  tears  forced  their  way  through  her  fingers.  She  took 
her  handkerchief  and  dried  her  eyes.  "Why  do  I  cry  for 
another  woman's  husband?"  and  the  hot  colour  of  shame  and 
of  wounded  pride  burst  even  through  her  tears. 

"I  will  not  cry,"  said  she  proudly ;  "he  is  alive — I  will  not 
cry — he  has  forgotten  me ;  from  this  moment  I  will  never 
shed  another  tear  for  one  that  is  alive  and  unworthy  of  a 
tear.     I  will  go  home."     She  went  home,  crying  all  the  way. 

And  now  a  partial  success  attended  the  deep  Meadows's 
policy.  It  was  no  common  stroke  of  unscrupulous  cunning 
to  plunge  her  into  the  very  depths  of  woe  in  order  to  take 
her  out  of  them.  The  effects  were  manifold  and  all  tended 
his  way. 

First  she  was  less  sorrowful  than  she  had  been  before  that 
deadly  blow,  for  now  the  heart  had  realised  a  greater  woe, 
and  had  the  miserable  comfort  of  the  comparison ;  but  above 
all,  new  and  strong  passions  had  risen  and  battled  fiercely 
with  grief — anger  and  wounded  pride. 

Susan  had  self-respect  and  pride  too,  perhaps  a  shade  too 
much,  though  less  small  vanity  than  have  most  persons  of  her 
moderate  calibre. 

What !  had  she  wept  and  sighed  all  these  months  for  a  man 
who  did  not  care  for  her?  What!  had  she  defied  sneers  and 
despised  affectionate  hints  and  gloried  openly  in  her  love  to 
be  openly  insulted  and  betrayed?     What!  had  she  shut  her- 

645 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

self  from  the  world,  and  put  on  mourning  and  been  seen  in 
mourning  for  one  who  was  not  dead,  but  well  and  happy  and 
married  to  another?  An  agony  of  shame  rushed  over  the 
wronged,  insulted,  humiliated  beauty.  She  longed  to  fly  from 
the  world.  She  asked  her  father  to  leave  Grassmere  and  go 
to  some  other  farm  a  hundred  miles  away.  She  asked  him 
suddenly,  nervously,  and  so  impetuously  that  the  old  man 
looked  up  in  dismay. 

"What !  leave  the  farm  where  your  mother  lived  with  me, 
and  where  you  were  born.  I  should  feel  strange,  girl,  but" — 
and  he  gave  a  strange  sigh — "mayhap  I  shall  have  to  leave  it 
whether  I  will  or  no." 

Susan  misunderstood  him,  and  coloured  with  self-reproach. 
She  said  hastily,  "No!  no!  Father,  you  shan't  leave  it  for 
me.     Forgive  me  ;  I  am  a  wayward  girl !" 

And  the  strung  nerves  gave  way,  and  tears  gushed  over 
the  hot  cheeks,  as  she  clung  to  her  father,  and  tried  to  turn 
the  current  of  her  despised  love  and  bestow  it  all  on  that 
selfish  old  noodle.  A  great  treasure  went  a  begging  in  Grass- 
mere  farmhouse.  Mr.  Meadows  called,  but  much  to  his 
chagrin  Susan  was  never  visible.  "Would  he  excuse  her? 
she  was  indisposed." 

The  next  evening  he  came,  he  found  her  entertaining  four 
or  five  other  farmers'  daughters  and  a  couple  of  young  men. 
She  was  playing  the  piano  to  them,  and  talking  and  laughing 
louder  and  faster  than  ever  he  had  heard  her  in  his  life.  He 
sat  moody  a  little  while  and  watched  her  uneasily,  but  soon 
took  his  line,  and  exerting  his  excellent  social  powers,  became 
the  life  of  the  party.  But  as  he  warmed  Susan  froze,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "Somebody  must  play  the  fool  to  amuse  these 
triflers;  if  you  undertake  it,  I  need  not."  For  all  that,  the 
very  attempt  at  society  indicated  what  was  passing  in  Susan's 
mind,  and  the  deep  Meadows  invited  all  present  to  meet  at 
his  house  in  two  days'  time. 

Meadows  was  now  living  in  Isaac  Levi's  old  house.  He 
had  examined  it,  found  it  a  much  nicer  house  for  him  than 
his  new  one — it  was  like  himself,  full  of  ins  and  outs,  and  it 
was  more  in  the  heart  of  business  and  yet  quiet ;  for  though 
it  stood  in  a  row,  yet  it  was  as  good  as  detached,  because  the 
houses  on  each   side   were  unoccupied.     They  belonged   to 

646 


I 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Jews,  probably  dependants  on  Isaac,  for  they  had  left  the 
town  about  a  twelvemonth  after  his  departure,  and  had  never 
returned,  though  a  large  quantity  of  goods  had  been  depos- 
ited in  one  of  the  houses. 

Meadows  contrived  that  this  little  party  should  lead  to 
another.  His  game  was  to  draw  Susan  into  the  world,  and, 
moreover,  have  her  seen  in  his  company.  She  made  no  re- 
sistance, for  her  wounded  pride  said,  "Don't  let  people  know 
you  are  breaking  your  heart  for  one  who  does  not  care  for 
you."  She  used  to  come  to  these  parties  radiant,  and  play- 
ing her  part  with  consummate  resolution  and  success,  and  go 
home  and  spend  the  night  in  tears. 

Meadows  did  not  see  the  tears  that  followed  these  unusual 
efforts — perhaps  he  suspected  them.  Enough  for  him  that 
Susan's  pride  and  shame  and  indignation  were  set  against 
her  love,  and  above  all  against  her  grief,  and  that  she  was 
forming  habits  whose  tendency  at  least  was  favourable  to  his 
views. 

Another  four  months  and  Susan,  exhausted  by  conflicting 
passions,  had  settled  down  into  a  pensive  languor,  broken  by 
gusts  of  bitter  grief,  which  became  rarer  and  rarer.  Her 
health  recovered  itself,  all  but  its  elasticity.  Her  pride  would 
not  let  her  pine  away.  But  her  heart  scarcely  beat  at  all,  and 
perhaps  it  was  a  good  thing  for  her  that  a  trouble  of  another 
kind  came  to  gently  stir  it.  Her  father,  who  had  for  some 
months  been  moody  and  depressed,  confessed  to  her  that  he 
had  been  speculating,  and  was  on  the  verge  of  ruin.  This 
dreadful  disclosure  gave  little  more  pain  to  Susan  than  if  he 
had  told  her  his  head  ached;  but  she  put  down  her  work 
and  came  and  kissed  him,  and  tried  to  console  him. 

"I  must  work  harder,  that  is  all,  father.  I  am  often  asked 
to  give  a  lesson  on  the  pianoforte;  I  will  do  that  for  your 
sake,  and  don't  you  fret  for  me.  What  with  the  trifle  my 
mother  settled  on  me  and  my  industry,  I  am  above  poverty, 
and  you  shall  never  see  me  repine." 

In  short,  poor  Susan  took  her  father  for  a  woman — adopt- 
ed a  line  of  consolation  addressed  to  his  affection  instead  of 
his  selfishness.  It  was  not  for  her  he  was  afflicted,  it  was 
for  himself. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Meadows  spoke  out.     There 

647 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

was  no  longer  anything  to  be  gained  by  delay.  In  fact,  he 
could  not  but  observe  that  since  the  fatal  letter  he  appeared 
to  be  rather  losing  ground  in  his  old  character.  There  wa« 
nothing  left  him  but  to  attack  her  in  a  new  one.  He  re- 
moved the  barrier  from  his  patient  impatience. 

He  found  her  alone  one  evening.  He  begged  her  to  walk 
in  the  garden.  She  complied  with  an  unsuspecting  smile. 
Then  he  told  her  all  he  had  suffered  for  her  sake — how  he 
had  loved  her  this  three  years  with  all  his  soul — how  he  never 
thought  to  tell  her  this — how  hard  he  had  struggled  against 
it — how  he  had  run  avvay  from  it,  and  after  that  how  he  had 
subdued  it,  or  thought  he  had  subdued  it  to  esteem — and  how 
he  had  been  rewarded  by  seeing  that  his  visits  and  his  talk 
had  done  her  some  good.  "But  now,"  said  he,  "that  you  are 
free,  I  have  no  longer  the  force  to  hide  my  love ;  now  that  the 
man  I  dared  not  interfere  with  has  thrown  away  the  jewel, 
it  is  not  in  nature  that  I  should  not  beg  to  be  allowed  to  take 
it  up  and  wear  it  in  my  heart." 

Susan  listened,  first  with  surprise,  then  with  confusion  and 
pain,  then  with  terror  at  the  violence  of  the  man's  passion ; 
for  the  long  restraint  removed,  it  overwhelmed  him  like  a 
flood.  Her  bosom  heaved  with  modest  agitation,  and  soon 
the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks  at  his  picture  of  what  he 
had  gone  through  for  her  sake.  She  made  shift  to  gasp 
out,  "My  poor  friend !"  but  she  ended  almost  fiercely,  "Let 
no  man  ever  hope  for  affection  from  me,  for  my  heart  is  in 
the  grave.  Oh,  that  I  was  there  too !"  and  she  ran  sobbing 
away  from  him  in  spite  of  his  entreaties. 

Another  man,  and  not  George,  had  made  a  confession  of 
love  to  her.  His  voice  had  trembled,  his  heart  quivered  with 
love  for  her,  and  it  was  not  George.  So,  then,  another  link- 
was  snapped.  Others  saw  they  had  a  right  to  love  her  now, 
and  acted  on  it. 

Meadows  was  at  a  loss,  but  he  stayed  away  a  week  in  si- 
lence and  thought  and  thought,  and  then  he  wrote  a  line  beg- 
ging permission  to  visit  her  as  usual : — "I  have  been  so  long 
used  to  hide  my  feelings  because  they  were  unlawful,  that  I 
can  surely  hide  them  if  I  see  they  make  you  more  unhappy 
than  you  would  be  without." 

Susan  replied  that  her  advice  to  him  was  to  avoid  her  as 

648 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

he  would  a  pestilence.  He  came  as  usual,  and  told  her  he 
would  take  her  commands  but  could  not  take  her  advice.  He 
would  run  all  risks  to  his  own  heart.  He  was  cheerful, 
chatty,  and  never  said  a  word  of  love;  and  this  relieved  Su- 
san, so  that  the  evening  passed  pleasantly.  Susan,  listless 
and  indifferent  to  present  events,  and  never  accustomed,  like 
Meadows,  to  act  upon  a  preconceived  plan,  did  not  even  ob- 
serve what  Meadows  had  gained  by  this  sacrifice  of  his  topic 
for  a  single  night,  viz.,  that  after  declaring  himself  her  lover 
he  was  still  admitted  to  the  house.  The  next  visit  he  was 
not  quite  so  forbearing,  yet  still  forbearing ;  and  so  on  by  sly 
gradations.  It  was  every  way  an  unequal  contest.  A  great 
man  against  an  average  woman — a  man  of  forty  against  a 
woman  of  twenty-two — a  man  all  love  and  selfishness  against 
a  woman  all  affection  and  unselfishness.  But  I  think  his 
chief  ally  was  a  firm  belief  on  Susan's  part  that  he  was  the 
best  of  men ;  that  from  first  to  last  of  this  affair  his  conduct 
had  been  perfection ;  that  while  George  was  true,  all  his 
thought  had  been  to  console  her  grief  at  his  absence ;  that  he 
never  would  have  spoken  but  for  the  unexpected  treason  of 
George,  and  then  seeing  her  insulted  and  despised,  he  had 
taken  that  moment  to  show  her  she  was  loved  and  honoured. 
Oh,  what  an  ungrateful  girl  she  was  that  she  could  not  love 
such  a  man ! 

Then  her  father  was  on  the  same  side.  "John  Meadows 
seems  down  like,  Susan.  Do  try  and  cheer  him  up  a  bit.  I 
am  sure  he  has  often  cheered  thee." — "That  he  has,  father." 

Susan  pitied  Meadows.  Pitying  him,  she  forced  herself 
at  times  to  be  gracious,  and  when  she  did  he  was  so  happy, 
that  she  was  alarmed  at  her  power  and  drew  in. 

Old  Merton  saw  now  how  the  land  lay,  and  he  clung  to  a 
marriage  between  these  two  as  his  only  hope.  "John  Mead- 
ows will  pull  me  through  if  he  marries  my  Susan." 

And  so  the  two  selfish  ones  had  got  the  unselfish  one  be- 
tween them,  one  pulling  gently,  the  other  pushing  quietly,  but 
both  without  intermission.     Thus  days  and  days  rolled  on. 

Meadows  now  came  four  times  a  week  instead  of  two,  and 
courted  her  openly,  and  beamed  so  with  happiness,  that  she 
had  not  always  the  heart  to  rob  him  of  this  satisfaction,  and 
he  overwhelmed  her  with  kindness  and  attention  of  every 

649 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

sort;  and  if  any  one  else  was  present,  she  was  sure  to  see 
how  much  he  was  respected ;  and  this  man  whom  others 
courted  was  her  slave.  This  soothed  the  pride  another  had 
wounded.  One  day  he  poured  out  his  love  to  her  with  such 
passion  that  he  terrified  her,  and  the  next  time  he  came  she 
avoided  him. 

Her  father  remonstrated :  "Girl,  you  will  break  that  man's 
heart  if  you  are  so  unkind  to  him ;  he  could  not  say  a 
word  because  you  shunned  him  like.  Why,  your  heart 
must  be  made  of  stone."  A  burst  of  tears  was  all  the 
reply. 

At  last  two  things  presented  themselves  to  this  poor  girl's 
understanding;  that  for  her  there  was  no  chance  of  earthly 
happiness  do  what  she  would,  and  that,  strangely  enough, 
she,  the  wretched  one,  had  it  in  her  power  to  make  two  other 
beings  happy,  her  father  and  good  Mr.  Meadows.  Now  a 
true  woman  lives  to  make  others  happy.  She  rarely  takes 
the  self-contained  views  of  life  men  are  apt  to  do. 

It  passed  through  Susan's  mind — "If  I  refuse  to  make 
these  happy,  why  do  I  live?  what  am  I  on  the  earth  for  at 
all?" 

It  seemed  cruel  to  her  to  refuse  happiness  when  she  could 
bestow  it  without  making  herself  two  shades  more  miserable 
than  she  was. 

Despair  and  unselfishness  are  evil  counsellors  in  a  schem- 
ing, selfish  world.  The  life-blood  had  been  drained  out  of 
her  heart  by  so  many  cruel  blows,  by  the  long  waiting,  the 
misgivings,  the  deep  woe  when  she  believed  George  dead, 
the  bitter  grief  and  mortification  and  sense  of  wrong  when 
she  found  he  was  married  to  another. 

Many  of  us,  male  and  female,  treated  as  Susan  imagined 
herself  treated,  have  taken  another  lover  out  of  pique.  Susan 
did  not  so.  She  was  bitterly  piqued,  but  she  did  not  make 
that  use  of  her  pique. 

Despair  of  happiness,  pity,  and  pure  unselfishness,  these 
stood  John  Meadows's  friends  with  his  unhappy  dupe,  and 
perhaps  my  male  readers  will  be  incredulous  as  well  as 
shocked  when  I  relate  the  manner  in  which  at  last  this  young 
creature,  lovely  as  an  angel,  in  the  spring  of  life,  loving  an- 
other still,  and  deluding  herself  to  think  she  hated  and  de- 

650 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

spised  him,  was  one  afternoon  surprised  into  giving  her 
hand  to  a  man  for  whom  she  did  not  really  care  a  but- 
ton. 

It  was  as  if  she  had  said,  "Is  it  really  true  your  happiness 
depends  on  me?  then  take  me — quick — before  my  courage 
fails.  Are  you  happy  now,  my  poor  soul?"  On  the  other 
side  there  were  the  passionate  pleadings  of  a  lover,  the  deep 
manly  voice  broken  with  supplication,  the  male  eyes  glisten- 
ing, the  diabolical  mixture  of  fraud  and  cunning  with  sin- 
cerity. 

At  the  first  symptom  of  yielding,  the  man  seized  her  as 
the  hawk  the  dove ;  he  did  not  wait  for  a  second  hint.  He 
poured  out  gratitude  and  protestations.  He  thanked  her  and 
blessed  her,  and  in  his  manly  ardour  caught  her  to  his  bosom. 
She  shut  her  eyes  and  submitted  to  the  caress  as  to  an  exe- 
cutioner. 

"Pray  let  me  go  to  my  father,"  she  whispered. 

She  came  to  her  father  and  told  him  what  she  had  done 
and  kissed  him,  and  when  he  kissed  her  in  return,  that  rare 
embrace  seemed  to  her  her  reward.  Meadows  went  home  on 
wings — he  was  in  a  whirlwind  of  joy  and  triumph. 

"Aha!  what  will  not  a  strong  will  do?"  He  had  no  fears, 
no  misgivings.  He  saw  she  did  not  really  like  him  even,  but 
he  would  make  her  love  him !  Let  him  once  get  her  into  his 
house  and  into  his  arms,  by  degrees  she  should  love  him; — 
ay,  she  should  adore  him !  He  held  that  a  young  and  virtu- 
ous woman  cannot  resist  the  husband  who  remains  a  lover 
unless  he  is  a  fool  as  well  as  a  lover.  She  could  resist  a 
man,  but  hardly  the  hearth,  the  marriage-bed,  the  sacred  do- 
mestic ties,  and  a  man  whose  love  should  be  always  present, 
always  ardent,  yet  his  temper  always  cool  and  his  determina- 
tion to  be  loved  unflinching. 

With  this  conviction  Meadows  had  committed  crimes  of 
the  deepest  dye  to  possess  Susan.  Villain  as  he  was,  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  he  would  have  committed  these  felonies 
had  he  doubted  for  an  instant  her  ultimate  happiness.  The 
unconquerable  dog  said  to  himself,  "The  day  will  come  that 
I  will  tell  her  how  I  have  risked  my  soul  for  her ;  how  I  have 
played  the  villain  for  her;  and  she  shall  throw  her  arms 
round  my  neck  and  bless  me  for  committing  all  those  crimes 

651 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

to  make  her  so  happy  against  her  will."  It  remained  to 
clinch  the  nail. 

He  came  to  Grassmere  every  day ;  and  one  night  that  the 
old  man  was  telling  Susan  and  him  how  badly  things  were 
going  with  him,  he  said  with  a  cheerful  laugh,  "I  wonder  at 
you,  father-in-law,  taking  on  that  way.  Do  you  think  Susan 
will  let  you  be  uncomfortable  for  want  of  a  thousand  pounds 
or  two?" 

Now  this  remark  was  slily  made  while  Susan  was  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  so  that  she  could  hear  it,  but  was  not 
supposed  to.  He  did  not  look  at  her  for  some  time,  and  then 
her  face  was  scarlet.  The  next  day  he  said  privately  to  old 
Merton,  "The  day  Susan  and  I  go  to  church  together,  you 
must  let  me  take  your  engagements  and  do  the  best  I  can 
with  them." 

"Ah  !  John,  you  are  a  friend !  but  it  will  take  a  pretty  deal 
to  set  me  straight  again." 

"How  much?     Two  thousand?" 

"More,  I  am  afraid,  and  too  much " 

"To  much  for  me  to  take  out  of  my  pocket  for  a  stranger ; 
but  not  for  my  wife's  father — not  if  it  was  ten  times  that." 

From  that  hour  Meadows  had  an  ally  at  Grassmere  work- 
ing heart  and  soul  to  hasten  the  wedding-day. 

Meadows  longed  for  this  day;  for  he  could  not  hide  from 
himself  that  as  a  lover  he  made  no  advances.  Susan's  heart 
was  like  a  globe  of  ice ;  he  could  get  no  hold  of  it  anywhere. 
He  burned  with  rage  when  the  bitter  truth  was  forced  on 
him  that  with  the  topic  of  George  Fielding  he  had  lost  those 
bright  animated  looks  of  affection  she  used  to  bestow  on  him, 
and  now  could  only  command  her  polite  attention — not  al- 
ways that.  Once  he  ventured  on  a  remonstrance — only 
once. 

She  answered  coldly  that  she  could  not  feign ;  indifferent 
she  was  to  everything  on  earth,  indifferent  she  always  should 
be.  But  for  that  indifference  she  should  never  have  con- 
sented to  marry  him.  Let  him  pause  then,  and  think  what 
he  was  doing,  or,  better  still,  give  up  this  folly,  and  not  tie 
an  icicle  like  her  to  an  honest  and  warm  heart  like  his. 

The  deep  Meadows  never  ventured  on  that  ground  again. 
He  feared  she  wanted  to  be  off  the  marriage,  and  he  deter- 

6s2 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

mined  to  hurry  it  on.     He  pressed  her  to  name  the  day.     She 
would  not. 

"Would  she  let  him  name  it  ?"— "No." 

Her  father  came  to  Meadows's  assistance.  "I'll  name  it," 
said  he. 

"Father !  no !  no  !" 

Old  Merton  then  made  a  pretence  of  selecting  a  day.  Re- 
jected one  day  for  one  reason,  another  for  another,  and 
pitched  on  a  day  only  six  weeks  distant.  The  next  day 
Meadows  bought  the  licence.  "I  thought  you  would  like 
that  better  than  being  cried  in  church,  Susan." 

Susan  thanked  him,  and  said  "Oh,  yes." 

That  evening  he  had  a  note  from  her,  in  which  "She  hum- 
bly asked  his  pardon,  but  she  could  not  marry  him  ;  he  must 
excuse  her.  She  trusted  to  his  generosity  to  let  the  matter 
drop,  and  forgive  a  poor  broken-hearted  girl,  who  had  be- 
haved ill  from  weakness  of  judgment,  not  lightness  of  heart." 

Two  days  after  this,  which  remained  unanswered,  her  fa- 
ther came  to  her  in  great  agitation  and  said  to  her,  "Have 
vou  a  mind  to  have  a  man's  death  upon  your  conscience?" 

"Father!" 

"I  have  seen  John  Meadows,  and  he  is  going  to  kill  him- 
self. What  sort  of  a  letter  was  that  to  write  to  the  poor 
man?  Says  he,  'It  has  come  on  me  like  a  thunderclap.'  I 
saw  a  pistol  on  his  table,  and  he  told  me  he  wouldn't  give  a 
button  to  live.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  trifling 
with  folks'  hearts  so." 

"I  trifle  with  folks'  hearts!  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  cried 
Susan. 

"Think  of  others  as  well  as  yourself,"  replied  the  old  man 
in  a  rage.     "Think  of  me." 

"Of  you,  dear  father?  Does  not  your  Susan  think  of 
you?" 

"No!  what  will  become  of  me  if  the  man  kills  himself? 
He  is  all  I  have  to  look  to  to  save  me  from  ruin." 

"What  then  ?"  cried  Susan,  colouring  scarlet ;  "it  is  not  his 
life  you  care  for ;  it  is  his  means  of  being  useful  to  us  !  Poor 
Mr.  Meadows !  He  has  no  friend  but  me.  I  will  give  you  a 
line  to  him."  The  line  contained  these  words :  "Forgive 
me." 

653 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Half  an  hour  after  receipt  of  it  Meadows  was  at  the  farm. 
Susan  was  going  to  make  some  faint  apology.  He  stopped 
her,  and  said,  "I  know  you  like  to  make  folk  happy.  I  have 
got  a  job  for  you.  A  gentleman,  a  friend  of  mine  in 
Cheshire,  wants  a  bailiff.  He  has  written  to  me.  A  word 
from  me  will  do  the  business.  Now  is  there  any  one  you 
would  like  to  oblige?  The  place  is  worth  five  hundred  a 
year." 

Susan  was  grateful  to  him  for  waiving  disagreeable  topics. 
She  reflected  and  said,  "Ah !  but  he  is  no  friend  of  yours  ?" 

"What  does  that  matter,  if  he  is  yours  ?" 

"Will  Fielding." 

"With  all  my  heart.  Only  my  name  must  not  be  men- 
tioned. You  are  right.  He  can  marry  on  this.  They  would 
both  have  starved  in  'The  Grove.'  " 

Thus  he  made  the  benevolent  girl  taste  the  sweets  of  power. 
"You  will  be  asked  to  do  many  a  kind  action  like  this  when 
you  are  Mrs.  Meadows."  So  he  bribed  father  and  daughter 
each  after  their  kind.  The  offer  came  in  form  from  the 
gentleman  to  Will  Fielding.  He  and  Miss  Holiday  had  al- 
ready been  cried  in  church.  They  were  married,  and  went 
off  to  Cheshire. 

So  Meadows  got  rid  of  Will  Fielding  at  a  crisis.  When 
it  suited  his  strategy,  he  made  his  enemy's  fortune  with  as 
little  compunction  as  he  would  have  ruined  him.  A  man  of 
iron !  cold  iron,  hot  iron,  whatever  iron  was  wanted. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fielding  gone  off  to  Cheshire,  and  Mrs.  Hol- 
iday after  them  on  a  visit  of  domestic  instruction.  Meadows 
publicly  announced  his  approaching  marriage  with  Miss  Mer- 
ton.  The  coast  being  clear,  he  clinched  the  last  nail.  From 
this  day  there  were  gusts  of  repugnance,  but  not  a  shadow 
of  resistance  on  Susan's  side.     It  was  to  be. 

The  weather  was  fine,  and  every  evening  this  man  and 
woman  walked  together ;  the  woman  envied  by  all  the  women, 
the  man  by  all  the  men.  Yet  they  walked  side  by  side  like 
the  ghosts  of  lovers.  And  since  he  was  her  betrothed,  one 
or  two  iron-grey  hairs  in  the  man's  head  had  turned  white 
and  lines  deepened  in  his  face.  The  victim  had  unwittingly 
revenged  herself.  He  had  stabbed  her  heart  again  and  again 
and  drained  it.     He  had  battered  this  poor  heart  till  it  had 

654 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

become  more  like  leather  than  flesh  and  blood,  and  now  he 
wanted  to  nestle  in  it  and  be  warmed  by  it,  to  kill  the  affec- 
tions and  revive  them  at  will — No  ! ! ! ! 

She  tried  to  give  happiness  and  to  avoid  giving  pain,  but 
her  heart  of  hearts  was  inaccessible.  The  town  had  capitu- 
lated, but  the  citadel  was  empty,  yet  impregnable ;  and  there 
were  moments  when  flashes  of  hate  mingled  with  the  steady 
flame  of  this  unhappy  man's  love,  and  he  was  tempted  to  kill 
her  and  himself. 

But  these  weaknesses  passed  like  air,  the  iron  purpose 
stood  firm.  This  day  week  they  were  to  be  married.  Mead- 
ows counted  the  days  and  exulted ;  he  had  faith  in  the  magic 
ring.  It  was  on  this  Monday  evening  then  they  walked  arm- 
in-arm  in  the  field,  and  it  so  happened  that  Meadows  was  not 
speaking  of  love,  but  of  a  scheme  for  making  all  the  poor 
people  in  Grassmere  comfortable,  especially  of  keeping  the 
rain  out  of  their  roofs,  and  the  wind  out  of  what  they  vul- 
garly, but  not  unreasonably,  called  their  windys,  and  Susan's 
colour  was  rising  and  her  eyes  brightening  at  this,  the  one 
interesting  side  marriage  offered — to  make  people  happy  near 
her  and  round  about  her,  and  she  cast  a  look  of  gratitude 
upon  her  companion — a  look  that,  coming  from  so  lovely  a 
face,  might  very  well  pass  for  love.  While  thus  pleasantly 
employed  the  pair  suddenly  encountered  a  form  in  a  long 
bristling  beard,  who  peered  into  their  faces  with  a  singular 
expression  of  strange  and  wild  curiosity  and  anxiety,  but  did 
not  stop ;  he  was  making  towards  Farnborough. 

Susan  was  a  little  startled.  "Who  is  that?" — "I  don't 
know." 

"He  looked  as  if  he  knew  us." 

"A  traveller  I  think,  dearest.  The  folk  hereabouts  have 
not  got  to  wear  those  long  beards  yet." 

"Why  did  you  start  when  he  passed  us?" 

"Did  I  start,  Susan?" 

"Your  arm  twitched  me." 

"You  must  have  fancied  it,"  replied  Meadows  with  a  sickly 
smile;  "but  come,  Susan,  the  dew  is  falling,  you  had  better 
make  towards  home." 

He  saw  her  safe  home,  then,  instead  of  waiting  to  supper 
as  usual,  got  his  horse  out  and  rode  to  the  town  full  gallop. 

655 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"Any  one  been  here  for  me?" — "Yes,  a  stranger." 
"With  a  long  beard?" — "Why,  yes,  he  had." 
"He  will  come  again?" — "In  half  an  hour." 
"Show  him  into  my  room  when  he  comes,  and  admit  no 
one  else." 

Meadows  was  hardly  seated  in  his  study,  and  his  candles 
lighted,  when  the  servant  ushered  in  his  visitor. 

"Shut  both  the  doors,  and  you  can  go  to  bed.  I  will  let 
Mr.  Richards  out.     Well  ?" 

"Well,  we  have  done  the  trick  between  us,  eh?" 
"What    made    you    come    home    without   orders?"    asked 
Meadows  somewhat  sternly. 

"Why,  you  know  as  well  as  me,  sir ;  you  have  seen  them  ?" 
"Who?" 

"George  Fielding  and  his  mate." 
Meadows  started.     "How  should  I  see  them?" 
"Sir !     Why,  they  are  come  home.     They  gave  me  the  slip, 
and  got  away  before  me.     I  followed  them.     They  are  here. 
They  must  be  here."     Crawley,  not  noticing  Meadows's  face, 
went  on.     "Sir,  when  I  found  they  had  slipped  out  of  the 
camp  on  horseback,  and  down  to  Sydney,  and  saw  them  with 
my  own  eyes  go  out  of  the  harbour  for  England,  I  thought 
I  should  have  died  on  the  spot.     I  thought  I  should  never 
have  the  courage  to  face  you,  but  when  I  met  you  arm-in- 
arm, her  eye  smiling  on  you,  I  knew  it  was  all  right  then. 
When  did  the  event  come  off?" 
"What  event?" 

"The  marriage,  sir, — you  and  the  lady.  She  is  worth  all 
the  trouble  she  has  given  us." 

"You  fool !"  roared  Meadows,  "we  are  not  married.  The 
wedding  is  to  be  this  day  week  !" 

Crawlev  started  and  gasped,  "We  are  ruined,  we  are  un- 
done !" 

"Hold  vour  bawling,"  cried  Meadows  fiercely,  "and  let  m.e 
think."  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands;  when  he  removed 
them  he  was  gloomy  but  self-possessed.  "They  are  not  in 
England,  Crawley,  or  we  should  have  seen  them.  They  are 
on  the  road.  You  sailed  faster  than  they — passed  them  at 
night  perhaps.  They  will  soon  be  here.  Mv  own  heart  tells 
me  they  will  be  here  before  Monday.    Well,  I  will  beat  them 

656 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

still.  I  will  be  married  Thursday  next."  The  iron  man 
then  turned  to  Crawley,  and  sternly  demanded  how  he  had 
let  the  man  slip. 

Crawley  related  all,  and  as  he  told  his  tale  the  tone  of 
Meadows  altered.  He  no  longer  doubted  the  zeal  of  his  hire- 
ling. He  laid  his  hand  on  his  brow,  and  more  than  once  he 
groaned  and  muttered  half-articulate  expressions  of  repug- 
nance. At  the  conclusion  he  said  moodily,  "Crawley,  you 
have  served  me  well — too  well !  All  the  women  upon  earth 
were  not  worth  a  murder,  and  we  have  been  on  the  brink 
of  several.    You  went  beyond  your  instructions." 

"No,  I  did  not,"  replied  Crawley ;  "I  have  got  them  in 
my  pocket.  I  will  read  them  to  you.  See!  there  is  no  dis- 
cretion allowed  me.    I  was  to  bribe  them  to  rob." 

"Where  do  I  countenance  the  use  of  deadly  weapons  ?" 

"Where  is  there  a  word  against  deadly  weapons?"  asked 
Crawley  sharply.  "Be  just  to  me,  sir,"  he  added  in  a  more 
whining  tone.  "You  know  you  are  a  man  that  must  and 
will  be  obeyed.  You  sent  me  to  Australia  to  do  a  certain 
thing,  and  you  would  have  flung  me  to  perdition  if  I  had 
stuck  at  anything  to  do  it.  Well,  sir,  I  tried  skill  without 
force — look  here,"  and  he  placed  a  small  substance  like  white 
sugar  on  the  table. 

"What  is  that?" 

"Put  that  in  a  man's  glass,  he  will  never  taste  it,  and  in 
half  an  hour  he  will  sleep  you  might  take  the  clothes  off  his 
back.  Three  of  us  watched  months  and  months  for  a  chance, 
but  it  was  no  go ;  those  two  were  teetotal  or  next  door  to  it." 

"I  wish  I  had  never  sent  you  out." 

"Why,"  replied  Crawley,  "there  is  no  harm  done ;  no  blood 
has  been  spilt  except  on  our  own  side.  George  Fielding  is 
coming  home  all  right.  Give  him  up  the  lady,  and  he  will 
never  know  you  were  his  enemy." 

"What!"  cried  Meadows,  "wade  through  all  these  crimes 
for  nothing.  Lie,  and  feign,  and  intercept  letters,  and  rob, 
and  all  but  assassinate — and  fail !  Wade  in  crime  up  to  my 
middle,  and  then  wade  back  again  without  the  prize!  Do 
you  see  this  pistol  ?  It  has  two  barrels ;  if  she  and  I  are 
ever  parted,  it  shall  be  this  way — I'll  send  her  to  heaven  with 
one  barrel,  and  myself  to  hell  with  the  other." 

657 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Crawley  returned  to  their  old 
relation,  and  was  cowed  by  the  natural  ascendancy  of  the 
greater  spirit. 

"You  need  not  look  like  a  girl  at  me,"  said  Meadows; 
"most  likely  it  won't  come  to  that.  It  is  not  easy  to  beat  me, 
and  I  shall  try  every  move  man's  wit  can  devise — this  last." 
said  he  in  a  voice  of  iron,  touching  the  pistol  as  it  lay  on 
the  table. 

There  was  another  pause.  Then  Meadows  rose  and  said 
calmly,  "You  look  tired,  you  shall  have  a  bottle  of  my  old 
port ;  and  my  own  heart  is  staggered,  but  it  is  only  for  a 
moment."  He  struck  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  walked 
slowly  from  the  room ;  and  Crawley  heard  his  step  descend 
^to  the  hall,  and  then  to  the  cellar,  and  the  indomitable  char- 
acter of  the  man  rang  in  his  solid  tread. 

Crawley  was  uneasy.  "Mr.  Meadows  is  getting  wildish ; 
it  frightens  me  to  see  such  a  man  as  him  burst  out  like  that. 
He  is  not  to  be  trusted  with  a  loaded  pistol.  Ah !  and  I 
am  in  his  secrets,  deep  in  his  secrets ;  great  men  sweep  away 
little  folk  that  know  too  much.  I  never  saw  him  with  a 
pistol  before."  All  this  passing  rapidly  through  his  head, 
Crawley  pounced  on  the  pistol,  took  off  the  caps,  whipped 
out  a  little  bottle,  and  poured  some  strong  stuff  into  the 
caps  that  loosened  the  detonating  powder  directly ;  then  with 
a  steel  pen  he  picked  it  all  out  and  replaced  the  caps,  their 
virtue  gone,  before  Mr.  Meadows  returned  with  two  bottles ; 
and  the  confederates  sat  in  close  conclave  till  the  grey  of 
morning  broke  into  the  room. 

The  great  man  gave  but  few  orders  to  his  subordinate,  for 
this  simple  reason,  that  the  game  had  fallen  into  his  own 
hands. 

Still  there  was  something  for  Crawley  to  do.  He  was  to 
have  an  officer  watching  to  arrest  Will  Fielding  on  the  old 
judgment,  should  he,  which  was  hardly  to  be  expected,  come 
to  kick  up  a  row  and  interrupt  the  wedding,  and  to-morrow 
he  was  to  take  out  a  writ  against  "father-in-law."  Mr. 
Meadows  played  a  close  game.  He  knew  that  things  are  not 
to  be  got  when  they  are  wanted.  His  plan  was  to  have 
everything  ready  that  might  be  wanted  long  before  it  was 
wanted.     But  most  of  the  night  passed  in  relation  of  what 

658 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

had  already  taken  place,  and  Crawley  was  the  chief  speaker,, 
and  magnified  his  services.  He  related  from  his  own  point 
of  view  all  that  I  have  told,  and  Meadows  listened  with  all 
his  soul  and  intelligence. 

At  the  attack  on  Mr.  Levi  Meadows  chuckled.  "The  old 
heathen !"  said  he  contemptuously,  "I  have  beat  him  any 
way." 

"By  the  way,  sir,  have  you  seen  anything  of  him?"  asked 
Crawley.— "No !" 

"He  is  not  come  home  then?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  he 
has?" 

"No,  only  he  left  the  mine  directly  after  they  pelted  him; 
but  he  would  not  leave  the  country  any  the  more  for  that, 
and  money  to  be  made  in  it  by  handsful." 

"Now,  Crawley,  go  and  get  some  sleep.  A  cold  bath  for 
me  and  then  on  horseback.     I  must  breakfast  at  Grassmere." 

"Great  man,  sir !  great  man !  You  will  beat  them  yet, 
sir.  You  have  beat  Mr.  Levi.  Here  we  are  in  his  house,  and 
he  driven  awav  to  lav  his  slv  old  bones  at  the  Antipodes. 
Ha !  ha !  ha !"  ^ 

The  sun  came  in  at  the  window,  and  the  long  conference 
broke  up,  and  strange  to  say  it  broke  into  three.  Crawley 
home  to  sleep.  Meadows  to  Grassmere.  Isaac  Levi  to 
smoke  an  Eastern  pipe,  and  so  meditate  with  more  tranquil 
pulse  how  to  strike  with  deadliest  effect  these  two  his  insolent 
enemies. 

Siste  viator — and  guess  that  riddle. 


CHAPTER    LXXXI. 

ISAAC  LEVI,  rescued  by  George  Fielding,  reached  his 
tent  smarting  with  pain  and  bitter  insult ;  he  sat  on  the 
floor  pale  and  dusty,  and  anathematised  his  adversaries  in 
the  Hebrew  tongue.  Wrath  still  boiled  in  his  heart,  he  drew 
out  his  letters  and  read  them.  Then  grief  mingled  with  his 
anger.  Old  Cohen,  his  friend  and  agent  and  coeval,  was 
dead.  Another  self  dead.  Besides  the  hint  that  this  gave 
him  to  set  his  house  in  order,  a  distinct  consideration  drew 

659 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

Isaac  now  to  England.  He  had  trusted  much  larger  inter- 
ests to  old  Cohen  than  he  was  at  all  disposed  to  leave  in  the 
hands  of  Cohen's  successors,  men  of  another  generation, 
*'progenien  vitiosiorem,"  he  sincerely  believed. 

Another  letter  gave  him  some  information  about  Mead- 
ows that  added  another  uneasiness  to  those  he  already  felt 
on  George's  account.  Hence  his  bitter  disappointment  when 
he  found  George  gone  from  the  mine,  the  date  of  his  re- 
turn uncertain.  Hence,  too,  the  purchase  of  Moore's  horses, 
and  the  imploring  letter  to  George ;  measures  that  proved 
invaluable  to  that  young  man,  whose  primitive  simplicity 
and  wise  humility  led  him  not  to  question  the  advice  of 
his  elder,  but  obey  it. 

And  so  it  was  that,  although  the  old  Jew  sailed  home 
upon  his  own  interests,  yet  during  the  voyage  George  Field- 
ing's assumed  a  great  importance,  direct  and  incidental.  Di- 
rect, because  the  old  man  was  warm  with  gratitude  to  him ; 
indirect,  because  he  boiled  over  with  hate  of  George's  most 
dangerous  enemy.  And  as  he  neared  the  English  coast,  the 
thought  that,  though  he  was  coming  to  Farnborough,  he 
could  not  come  home,  grew  bitterer  and  bitterer,  and  then 
that  he  should  find  his  enemy  and  his  insulter  in  the  very 
house  sacred  by  the  shadows  of  the  beloved  and  dead ! ! 

Finding  in  Nathan  a  youth  of  no  common  fidelity  and 
shrewdness,  Isaac  confided  in  him ;  and  Nathan,  proud  be- 
yond description  of  the  confidence  bestowed  on  him  by  one 
so  honoured  in  his  tribe,  enlisted  in  his  cause  with  all  the 
ardour  of  youth  tempered  by  Jewish  address. 

Often  they  sat  together  on  the  deck,  and  the  young  Jew- 
ish brain  and  the  old  Jewish  brain  mingled  and  digested  a 
course  of  conduct  to  meet  every  imaginable  contingency; 
for  the  facts  they  at  present  possessed  were  only  general  and 
vague. 

The  first  result  of  all  this  was  that  these  two  crept  into 
the  town  of  Farnborough  at  three  o'clock  one  morning;  that 
Isaac  took  out  a  key  and  unlocked  the  house  that  stood  next 
to  Meadows's  on  the  left  hand ;  that  Isaac  took  secret  posses- 
sion of  the  first  floor,  and  Nathan  open  but  not  ostentatious 
possession  of  the  ground-floor,  with  a  tale  skilfully  concocted 
to  excite  no  suspicion  whatever  that  Isaac  was  in  any  way 

660 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

connected  with  his  presence  in  the  town.    Nathan,  it  is  to  be 
observed,  had  never  been  in  Farnborough  before. 

The  next  morning  they  worked.  Nathan  went  out,  locking 
the  door  after  him,  to  execute  two  commissions.  He  was 
to  find  out  what  the  young  Cohens  were  doing,  and  how 
far  they  were  Hkely  to  prove  worthy  of  the  trust  reposed 
in  their  father;  and  what  Susan  Merton  was  doing,  and 
whether  Meadows  was  courting  her  or  not.  The  latter  part 
of  Nathan's  task  was  terribly  easy.  The  young  man  came 
home  late  at  night,  locked  the  door,  made  a  concerted  sig- 
nal, and  was  admitted  to  the  senior  presence.  He  found  him 
smoking  his  Eastern  pipe.  Nathan  with  dejected  air  told 
him  that  he  had  no  good  news ;  that  the  Cohens  not  only 
thought  themselves  wiser  than  their  father,  which  was  per- 
missible, but  openly  declared  it,  which  he,  though  young, 
had  observed  to  be  a  trait  confined  to  very  great  fools. 

"It  is  well  said,  my  son,"  quoth  Isaac,  smoking  calmly — 
"and  the  other  business?" 

"Oh,  master!"  said  Nathan.  'T  bring  still  worse  tidings 
of  her.  She  is  a  true  Nazarite,  a  creature  without  faith. 
She  is  betrothed  to  the  man  you  hate,  and  whom  I,  for  your 
sake,  hate  even  to  death." 

They  spoke  in  an  Eastern  dialect,  which  I  am  paraphrasing 
here  and  translating  there  according  to  the  measure  of  my 
humble  abilities.  Isaac  sucked  his  pipe  very  fast ;  this  news 
was  a  double  blow  to  his  feelings. 

"If  she  be  indeed  a  Nazarite  without  faith,  let  her  go ; 
but  judge  not  the  simple  hastily.  First  let  me  know  how 
far  woman's  frailty  is  to  blame,  how  far  man's  guile ;  for 
not  for  nothing  was  Crawley  sent  out  to  the  mine  by 
Meadows.    Let  me  consider,"  and  he  smoked  calmly  again. 

After  a  long  silence,  which  Nathan  was  too  respectful  to 
break,  the  old  man  gave  him  his  commission  for  to-morrow. 
He  was  to  try  and  discover  why  Susan  Merton  had  written 
no  letters  for  many  months  to  George,  and  why  she  had 
betrothed  herself  to  the  foe.  "But  reveal  nothing  in  return," 
said  Isaac,  "neither  ask  more  than  three  questions  of  any  one 
person,  lest  they  say  'Who  is  this  that,  being  a  Jew,  asks 
many  questions  about  a  Nazarite  maiden,  and  why  asks  he 
them?" 

66i 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

At  night  Nathan  returned  full  of  intelligence.  She  loved 
the  young  man  Fielding.  She  wrote  letters  to  him  and  re- 
ceived letters  from  him,  until  gold  was  found  in  Australia. 
But  after  this  he  wrote  to  her  no  more  letters,  where- 
fore her  heart  was  troubled.  "Ah !  and  did  she  write  to 
him?" 

"Yes,  but  received  no  answer,  nor  any  letter  for  many 
months." 

"Ah!"— (puff!  puff!). 

"Then  came  a  rumour  that  he  was  dead,  and  she  mourned 
for  him  after  the  manner  of  her  people  many  days.  Verily, 
master,  I  am  vexed  for  the  Nazarite  maiden,  for  her  tale  is 
sad.  Then  came  a  letter  from  AustraHa  that  said  he  is  not 
dead,  but  married  to  a  stranger.  Then  the  maiden  said, 
'Behold  now  this  twelve  months  he  writes  not  to  me,  this 
then  is  true,'  and  she  bowed  her  head,  and  the  colour  left 
her  cheek.  Then  this  Meadows  visited  her,  and  consoled 
her  day  by  day.  And  there  are  those  who  confidently  affirm 
that  her  father  said  often  to  her,  'Behold  now  I  am  a  man 
stricken  in  years,  and  the  man  Aleadows  is  rich;'  so  the 
maiden  gave  her  hand  to  the  man,  but  whether  to  please 
the  old  man  her  father,  or  out  of  the  folly  and  weakness  of 
females,  thou,  O  Isaac,  son  of  Shadrach,  shall  determine; 
seeing  that  I  am  young,  and  little  versed  in  the  ways  of 
women,  knowing  this  only  by  universal  report,  that  they  are 
fair  to  the  eye,  but  often  bitter  to  the  taste." 

"Aha!"  cried  Isaac,  "but  I  am  old,  O  Nathan  son  of  EU, 
and  with  the  thorns  of  old  age  comes  one  good  fruit,  'ex- 
perience.' No  letters  came  to  him,  yet  she  wrote  many — 
none  came  to  her,  yet  he  wrote  many.  All  this  is  trans- 
parent as  glass — here  has  been  fraud  as  well  as  guile." 

Nathan's  eyes  sparkled.    "What  is  the  fraud,  master?" 

"Nay,  that  I  know  not,  but  I  will  know !" 

"But  how,  master  ?" 

"By  help  of  thine  ears,  or  my  own !" 

Nathan  looked  puzzled.  So  long  as  Mr.  Levi  shut  him- 
self up  a  close  prisoner  on  the  first  floor  what  could  he  hear 
for  himself? 

Isaac  read  the  look  and  smiled.  He  then  rose,  and  putting 
his  finger  to  his  lips,  led  the  way  to  his  own  apartments.    At 

662 


II 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

the  staircase-door,  which  even  Nathan  had  not  yet  passed, 
he  bade  the  young  man  take  off  his  shoes ;  he  himself  was 
in  sHppers.  He  took  Nathan  into  a  room,  the  floor  of  which 
was  entirely  covered  with  mattresses,  A  staircase,  the  steps 
of  which  were  covered  with  horse-hair,  went  by  a  tolerably 
easy  slope  and  spiral  movement  nearly  up  to  the  cornice.  Of 
this  cornice  a  portion  about  a  foot  square  swung  back  on  a 
well-oiled  hinge,  and  Isaac  drew  out  from  the  wall  with  the 
utmost  caution  a  piece  of  gutta-percha  piping,  to  this  he 
screwed  on  another  piece  open  at  the  end  and  applied  it  to 
his  ear. 

Nathan  comprehended  it  all  in  a  moment.  His  master 
could  overhear  every  word  uttered  in  Meadow's  study.  Levi 
explained  to  him  that  ere  he  left  his  old  house  he  had  put 
a  new  cornice  in  the  room  he  thought  Meadows  would  sit 
in,  a  cornice  so  deeply  ornamented  that  no  one  could  see 
the  ear  he  left  in  it,  and  had  taken  out  bricks  in  the  wall  of 
the  adjoining  house  and  made  the  other  arrangements  they 
were  inspecting  together.  Mr.  Levi  farther  explained  that 
his  object  was  simply  to  overhear  and  counteract  every 
scheme  Meadows  should  form.  He  added  that  he  never  in- 
tended to  leave  Farnborough  for  long.  His  intention  had 
been  to  establish  certain  relations  in  that  country,  buy  some 
land  and  return  immediately,  but  the  gold  discovery  had 
detained  him. 

"But,  master,"  said  Nathan,  "suppose  the  man  has  taken 
his  business  to  the  other  side  of  the  house?" 

"Foolish  youth !"  replied  Isaac,  "am  I  not  on  both  sides 
of  him!!!" 

"Ah!    What,  is  there  another  on  the  other?" 

Isaac  nodded. 

Thus,  while  Nathan  was  collecting  facts.  Isaac  had  been 
watching  "patient  as  a  cat,  keen  as  a  lynx,"  at  his  ear-hole, 
and  heard — nothing. 

Now  the  next  day  Nathan  came  in  hastily  long  before  the 
usual  hour.  "Master,  another  enemy  is  come — the  man 
Crawley !  I  saw  him  from  the  window ;  he  saw  not  me. 
What  shall  I  do?" 

"Keep  the  house  all  day;  I  would  not  have  him  see  you. 
He  would  say,  'Aha !  the  old   Tew  is  here  too.'  "     Nathan's 

663 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

countenance   fell,   he   was   a   prisoner   now   as   well   as   his 
master. 

The  next  morning,  rising  early  to  prepare  their  food,  he 
was  surprised  to  find  the  old  man  smoking  his  pipe  down 
below. 

"All  is  well,  my  son.  My  turn  has  come.  I  have  had 
great  patience,  and  great  is  the  reward."  He  then  told  him 
with  natural  exultation  the  long  conference  he  had  been 
secretly  present  at  between  Crawley  and  Meadows — a  con- 
ference in  which  the  enemy  had  laid  bare  not  his  guilt  only, 
but  the  secret  crevice  in  his  coat  of  mail.  "She  loves  him 
not!"  cried  Levi  with  exultation.  "She  is  his  dupe!  With 
a  word  I  can  separate  them  and  confound  him  utterly." 

"Oh,  master!"  cried  the  youth  eagerly,  "speak  that  word 
to-day,  and  let  me  be  there  and  hear  it  spoken,  if  I  have 
favour  in  your  eyes?" 

"Speak  it  to-day !"  cried  Levi,  with  a  look  of  intense  sur- 
prise at  Nathan's  simplicity.  "Go  to,  foolish  youth !"  said 
he.  "What,  after  I  have  waited  months  and  months  for 
vengeance,  would  you  have  me  fritter  it  away  for  want  of 
waiting  a  day  or  two  longer  ?  No,  I  will  strike  not  the  empty 
cup  from  his  hand,  but  the  full  cup  from  his  lips.  Aha !  you 
have  seen  the  Jew  insulted  and  despised  in  many  lands ;  have 
patience  now,  and  you  shall  see  how  he  can  give  blow  for 
blow ;  ay !  old  and  feeble,  and  without  a  weapon,  can  strike 
his  adversary  to  the  heart." 

Nathan's  black  eye  flashed.  "You  are  the  master,  I  the 
scholar,"  said  he.  "All  I  ask  is  to  be  permitted  to  share 
the  watching  for  your  enemy's  word,  since  I  may  not  go 
abroad  while  it  is  day." 

Thus  the  old  and  young  lynx  lay  in  ambush  all  day.  And 
at  night  the  young  lynx  prowled,  but  warily,  lest  Crawley 
should  see  him,  and  every  night  brought  home  some  scrap 
of  intelligence. 

To  change  the  metaphor,  it  was  as  though  while  the  West- 
ern spider  wove  his  artful  web  round  the  innocent  fly,  the 
Oriental  spider  wove  another  web  round  him,  the  threads  of 
which  were  so  subtle  as  to  be  altogether  invisible.  Both 
East  and  West  leaned  with  sublime  faith  on  their  respective 
gossamers,  nor  remembered  that  Dieu  dispose, 

664 


1 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


CHAPTER    LXXXII. 

MEADOWS  rode  to  Grassmere  to  try  and  prevail  with 
Susan  to  be  married  on  Thursday  next  instead  of 
Monday.  As  he  rode,  he  revolved  every  argument  he  could 
think  of  to  gain  her  compliance.  He  felt  sure  she  was  more 
inclined  to  postpone  the  day  than  to  advance  it,  but  some- 
thing told  him  his  fate  hung  on  this : — "These  two  men  will 
come  home  on  Monday,  I  am  sure  of  it.  Ay!  Monday 
morning,  before  we  can  wed.  I  will  not  throw  a  chance 
away ;  the  game  is  too  close."  Then  he  remembered  with 
dismay  that  Susan  had  been  irritable  and  snappish  just  be- 
fore parting  yester-eve — a  trait  she  had  never  exhibited  to 
him  before.  When  he  arrived,  his  heart  almost  failed  him, 
but  after  some  little  circumlocution  and  excuse  he  revealed 
the  favour,  the  great  favour  he  was  come  to  ask.  He  asked 
it.  She  granted  it  without  the  shade  of  a  demur.  He  was 
no  less  surprised  than  delighted,  but  the  truth  is  that  very 
irritation  and  snappishness  of  yesterday  was  the  cause  of 
her  consenting;  her  conscience  told  her  she  had  been  un- 
kind, and  he  had  been  too  wise  to  snap  in  return.  So  now 
he  benefited  by  the  reaction  and  little  bit  of  self-reproach. 
For  do  but  abstain  from  reproaching  a  good  girl  who  has 
been  unjust  or  unkind  to  you,  and  ten  to  one  if  she  does 
not  make  you  the  amende  by  word  or  deed — most  likely 
the  latter,  for  so  she  can  soothe  her  tender  conscience  with- 
out grazing  her  equally  sensitive  pride.  Poor  Susan  little 
knew  the  importance  of  the  concession  she  made  so  easily. 

Meadows  galloped  home  triumphant.  But  two  whole  days 
now  between  him  and  his  bliss !  And  that  day  passed  and 
Tuesday  passed.  The  man  lived  three  days  and  nights  in 
a  state  of  tension  that  would  have  killed  some  of  us  or  driven 
us  mad ;  but  his  intrepid  spirit  rode  the  billows  of  hope  and 
fear  like  a  petrel.  And  the  day  before  the  wedding  it  did 
seem  as  if  his  adverse  fate  got  suddenly  alarmed,  and  made 
a  desperate  effort  and  hurled  against  him  every  assailant 
that  could  be  found.  In  the  morning  came  his  mother,  and 
implored  him  ere  it  was  too  late  to  give  up  this  marriage. 
"I  have  kept  silence,  yea,  even  from  good  words,"  said  the 

665 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

aged  woman,  "but  at  last  I  must  speak.  John,  she  does  not 
love  you,  I  am  a  woman,  and  can  read  a  woman's  heart ;  and 
you  fancied  her  long  before  George  Fielding  was  false  to 
her,  if  false  he  ever  was,  John." 

The  old  woman  said  the  whole  of  this  last  sentence  with 
so  much  meaning  that  her  son  was  stung  to  rage,  and  in- 
terrupted her  fiercely : — "I  looked  to  find  all  the  world 
against  me,  but  not  my  own  mother.  No  matter — so  be  it ; 
the  whole  world  shan't  turn  me,  and  those  I  don't  care  to 
fight  I'll  fly." 

And  he  turned  savagely  on  his  heel  and  left  the  old  wom- 
an there  shocked  and  terrified  by  his  vehemence.  She  did 
not  stay  there  long.  Soon  the  scarlet  cloak  and  black  bon- 
net might  have  been  seen  wending  their  way  slowly  back  to 
the  little  cottage,  the  poor  old  tidy  bonnet  drooping  lower 
than  it  was  wont.  Meadows  came  back  to  dinner,  he  had  a 
mutton-chop  in  his  study,  for  it  was  a  busy  day.  While  thus 
employed  there  came  almost  bursting  into  the  room  a  man 
struck  with  remorse — Jefferies,  the  recreant  postmaster.  "Mr. 
Meadows,  I  can't  carry  on  this  game  no  longer,  and  I  won't 
for  any  man  living!"  He  then  in  a  wild,  loud,  and  excited 
way  went  on  to  say  how  the  poor  girl  had  come  a  hundred 
times  for  a  letter,  and  looked  in  his  face  so  wistfully,  and  once 
she  had  said,  "Oh,  Mr.  Jefferies,  do  have  a  letter  for  me!" 
and  how  he  saw  her  pale  face  in  his  dreams,  and  little  he 
thought  when  he  became  Meadows's  tool  the  length  the  game 
was  to  be  carried. 

Meadows  heard  him  out,  then  simply  reminded  him  of 
his  theft,  and  assured  him  with  an  oath  that  if  he  dared  to 
confess  his  villainy — "My  villainy?"  shrieked  the  astonished 
postmaster. 

"Whose  else?  You  have  intercepted  letters — not  I.  You 
abused  the  public  confidence — not  I.  So  if  you  are  such  a 
fool  and  sneak  as  to  cut  your  throat  by  peaching  on  your- 
self, I'll  cry  louder  than  you,  and  I'll  show  you 
have  emptied  letters  as  well  as  stopped  them.  Go  home 
to  your  wife  and  keep  quiet,  or  I'll  smash  both  you  and 
her." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  are  without  mercy,  and  I  dare  not  open 
my  heart  while  I  live;  but  T  will  beat  you  yet,  you  cruel 

666 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

monster.     I  will  leave  a  note  for  Miss  Merton  confessing 
all,  and  blow  out  my  brains  to-night  in  the  office." 

The  man's  manner  was  wild  and  despairing.  Meadows 
eyed  him  sternly.  He  said  with  affected  coolness,  "Jefferies, 
you  are  not  game  to  take  your  own  life." — "Ain't  I  ?"  was 
the  reply. 

"At  least  I  think  not." 

"To-night  will  show." 

"I  must  know  that  before  to-night,"  cried  Meadows,  and 
with  the  word  he  sprang  on  Jeffries  and  seized  him  in  a 
grasp  of  iron,  and  put  a  pistol  to  his  head. 

"Ah !  no,  Mr.  Meadows.  Mercy !  mercy !"  shrieked  the 
man  in  an  agony  of  fear. 

"All  right !"  said  Meadows,  coolly  putting  up  the  pistol. 
"You  half  imposed  on  me,  and  that  is  something  for  you 
to  brag  of.  You  won't  kill  yourself,  Jefferies ;  you  are  not 
the  stuff.  Give  over  shaking  like  an  aspen,  and  look  and 
listen.  You  are  in  debt.  I've  bought  up  two  drafts  of  yours 
— here  they  are.  Come  to  me  to-morrow — after  the  wed- 
ding, and  I  will  give  you  them  to  light  your  pipe  with." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Meadows,  that  would  be  one  load  off  my  mind." 

"You  are  short  of  cash  too ;  come  to  me — after  the  wed- 
ding, and  I'll  give  you  fifty  pounds  cash." 

"You  are  very  liberal,  sir.  I  wish  it  was  in  a  better 
cause." 

"Now  go  home  and  don't  be  a  sneak  and  a  fool — till  after 
the  wedding,  or  I  will  sell  the  bed  from  under  your  wife's 
back  and  send  you  to  the  stone-jug.     Be  off." 

Jefferies  crept  away  paralysed  in  heart,  and  Meadows 
standing  up  called  out  in  a  rage,  "Are  there  any  more  of  you 
that  hope  to  turn  John  Meadows?  then  come  on,  come  a 
thousand  strong  with  the  devil  at  your  back,  and  then  I'll 
beat  you !"  And  for  a  moment  the  respectable  man  was  al- 
most grand,  a  man-rock  standing  braving  earth  and  heaven 

"Hist !  Mr.  Meadows."  He  turned  and  there  was  Crawley. 
"A  word,  sir.  Will  Fielding  is  in  the  town  in  such  a  pas- 
sion." 

"Come  to  stop  the  wedding?" 

"He  was  taking  a  glass  of  ale  at  the  'Toad  and  Pickaxe,' 
and  you  might  hear  him  all  over  the  vard." 

667 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"What  is  he  going  to  do?" 

"Sir,  he  has  bought  an  uncommon  heavy  whip;  he  was 
showing  it  in  the  yard.  'This  is  for  John  Meadows's  back,' 
said  he,  'and  I  will  give  it  him  before  the  girl  he  has  stolen 
from  my  brother.  If  she  takes  a  dog  instead  of  a  man,  it 
shall  be  a  beaten  dog,'  says  he." 

Meadows  rang  his  bell.  "Harness  the  mare  to  the  four- 
wheeled  chaise.     You  know  what  to  do,  Crawley." 

"Well,  I  can  guess." 

"But  first  get  him  told  that  I  am  always  at  Grassmere  at 
six  o'clock." 

"But  you  won't  go  there  this  evening,  of  course." 

"Why  not?" 

"Aren't  you  afraid  he " 

"Afraid  of  Will  Fielding?  Why  you  have  never  looked 
at  me.  I  do  notice  your  eyes  are  always  on  the  ground. 
Crawley,  when  I  was  eighteen,  one  evening  (it  was  harvest- 
home,  and  all  the  folk  had  drunk  their  wit  and  manners  out), 
I  found  a  farmer's  wife  in  a  lane  hemmed  in  by  three  great 
ignorant  brutes  that  were  for  kissing  her,  or  some  nonsense, 
and  she  crying  help  and  murder  and  ready  to  faint  with 
fright.  It  was  a  decent  woman  and  a  neighbour,  so  I  inter- 
fered as  thus :  I  knocked  the  first  fellow  senseless  on  his 
back  with  a  blow  before  they  knew  of  me,  and  then  the 
three  were  two.  I  fought  the  two,  giving  and  taking  for 
full  ten  minutes,  and  then  I  got  a  chance,  and  one  went 
down.  I  put  my  foot  on  his  neck  and  kept  him  down  for 
all  he  could  do,  and  over  his  body  I  fought  the  best  man 
of  the  lot,  and  thrashed  him  so  that  his  whole  mug  was  like 
a  ball  of  beetroot.  When  he  was  quite  sick  he  ran  one 
way,  and  t'other  got  up  roaring  and  ran  another,  and  they 
had  to  send  a  hurdle  for  No.  i.  Dame  Fielding  gave  me 
of  her  own  accord  what  all  the  row  was  about,  and  more 
than  one,  and  hearty  ones  too,  I  assure  you,  and  had  me  in 
to  supper  and  told  her  man ;  and  he  shook  my  hand,  a  good 
one." 

"Why,  sir,  vou  don't  mean  to  say  the  woman  you  fought 
for  was  Mrs.  Fielding." 

"But  I  tell  you  it  was,  and  I  had  those  two  boys  on  my 
knee,  two  chubby  toads,  pulling  at  mv  curlv  hair!     Whv 

668  '  ' 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

do  I  talk  of  these  things?  Oh,  I  remember  it  was  to  show 
you  I  am  not  a  man  that  can  be  bullied.  I  am  a  much  better 
man  than  I  was  at  eighteen.  I  won't  be  married  in  a  black 
eye  if  I  can  help  it.  But  when  I  am  once  married,  here  I 
stand  against  all  comers,  and  if  you  hear  them  grumble  or 
threaten,  you  tell  them  that  any  Sunday  afternoon,  when 
there  is  nothing  better  to  be  done,  I'll  throw  my  cap  into 
the  ring  and  fight  all  the  Fieldings  that  ever  were  pupped, 
one  down  another  come  on."  Then  turning  quite  cool  and 
contemptuous  all  in  a  moment,  he  said,  "These  are  words, 
and  we  have  work  on  hand,"  and  even  as  he  spoke,  he  strode 
from  the  room,  pattered  after  by  Crawley. 

At  six  o'clock  Meadows  and  Susan  were  walking  arm-in- 
arm in  the  garden.  Presently  they  saw  a  man  advancing 
towards  them  with  his  right  hand  behind  him.  "Why,  it  is 
Will  Fielding,"  cried  Susan,  "come  to  thank  you." 

"I  think  not  by  the  look  of  him,"  replied  Meadows  coolly. 

"Susan,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  take  your  hand  from 
that  man's  arm.     I  have  got  a  word  to  say  to  him." 

Susan  did  more  than  requested,  seeing  at  once  that  mis- 
chief was  coming.  She  clung  to  William's  right  arm,  and 
while  he  ground  his  teeth  with  ineffectual  rage,  for  she  was 
strong,  as  her  sex  are  strong,  for  half  a  minute,  and  to  throw 
her  off  he  must  have  been  much  rougher  with  her  than  he 
chose  to  be,  three  men  came  behind  unobserved  by  all  but 
Meadows,  and  captured  him  on  the  old  judgment.  And 
Crawley  having  represented  him  as  a  violent  man  they  liter- 
ally laid  the  grasp  of  the  law  on  him. 

"But  I  have  got  the  money  to  pay  it,"  remonstrated  Will- 
iam. 

"Pay  it  then." 

"But  my  money  is  at  home ;  give  me  two  days.  I'll  write 
to  my  wife  and  she  will  send  it  me." 

The  officers  with  a  coarse  laugh  told  him  he  must  come 
with  them  meantime. 

Meadows  whispered  Susan,  "I'll  pay  it  for  him  to-mor- 
row." 

They  took  William  Fielding  in  Meadows's  four-wheeled 
chaise. 

"Where  are  they  taking  him,  John?" 

669 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"To  the  county  gaol." 

"Oh,  don't  let  them  take  him  there.  Can  you  not  trust 
him?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  why  not  pay  it  for  him  ?" 

"Bu^  J  don't  carry  money  in  my  pocket,  and  the  bank 
is  closed." 

"How  unfortunate !" 

"Very!  but  I'll  send  it  over  to-morrow  early,  and  we  will 
have  him  out." 

"Oh,  yes,  poor  fellow !  the  very  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"Yes !  the  first  thing — after  we  are  married." 

Soon  after  this  Meadows  bade  Susan  affectionately  fare- 
well and  rode  off  to  Newborough  to  buy  his  gloves  and 
some  presents  for  his  bride.  On  the  road  he  overtook  Will- 
iam Fielding  going  to  gaol,  leaned  over  his  saddle  as  he 
cantered  by,  and  said,  "Mrs.  Meadows  will  send  the  money 
in  to  free  you  in  the  morning,"  then  on  again  as  cool  as  a 
cucumber,  and  cantered  into  the  town  before  sunset,  put  up 
Black  Rachel  at  the  "King's  Head,"  made  his  purchases,  and 
back  to  the  inn.  As  he  sat  in  the  bar-parlour  drinking  a 
glass  of  ale,  and  chatting  with  the  landlady,  two  travellers 
came  into  the  passage ;  they  did  not  stop  in  it  long,  for  one 
of  them  knew  the  house  and  led  his  companion  into  the 
coffee-room.  But  in  that  moment  by  a  flash  of  recognition, 
spite  of  their  bronzed  colour  and  long  beards,  Meadows,  had 
seen  who  they  were — George  Fielding  and  Thomas  Robin- 
son. Words  could  not  paint  in  many  pages  what  Meadows 
passed  through  in  a  few  seconds.  His  very  body  was  one 
moment  cold  as  ice,  the  next  burning. 

The  coffee-room  door  was  open — he  dragged  himself  into 
the  passage  though  each  foot  in  turn  seemed  glued  to  the 
ground,  and  listened.  He  came  back  and  sat  down  in  the 
bar. 

"Are  they  going  to  stay?"  said  the  mistress  to  the  waiter. 

"Yes,  to  be  called  at  five  o'clock." 

The  bell  rang.  The  waiter  went  and  immediately  returned. 
"Hot  with,"  demanded  the  waiter,  in  a  sharp  mechanical 
tone. 

"Here,  take  my  keys  for  the  lump-sugar,"  said  the  land- 

670 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

lady,  and  she  poured  first  the  brandy  and  then  the  hot  water 
into  a  tumbler,  then  went  upstairs  to  see  about  the  travellers' 
beds. 

Meadows  was  left  alone  a  few  moments  with  the  liquor. 
A  sudden  flash  came  to  Meadows's  eye,  he  put  his  hand 
hastily  to  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  then  his  eye  brightened 
still  more.  Yes.  it  was  there ;  he  thought  he  had  the  curi- 
osity to  keep  it  by  him.  He  drew  out  the  white  lump  Craw- 
ley had  left  on  his  table  that  night,  and  flung  it  into  the 
glass  just  as  the  waiter  returned  with  the  sugar. 

The  waiter  took  the  brandy  and  water  into  the  coffee-room. 
Meadows  sat  still  as  a  mouse,  his  brain  boiling  and  bubbling, 
awestruck  at  what  he  had  done,  yet  meditating  worse. 

The  next  time  the  waiter  came  in,  "Waiter,"  said  he,  "one 
glass  among  two,  that  is  short  allowance." 

"Oh,  the  big  one  is  teetotal,"  replied  the  waiter. 

"Mrs.  White,"  said  Meadows,  "if  you  have  got  a  bed  for 
me.  I'll  sleep  here,  for  my  nag  is  tired  and  the  night  is 
darkish." 

"Always  a  bed  for  you,  Mr.  Meadows,"  was  the  gracious 
reply. 

Soon  the  two  friends  rang  for  bed-candles.  Robinson 
staggered  with  drowsiness.  Meadows  eyed  them  from  be- 
hind a  newspaper. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Meadows  went  to  bed  too,  but 
not  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER   LXXXIII. 

AT  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  Crawley  was  at 
Meadows's  house  by  appointment.  To  his  great  sur- 
prise the  servant  told  him  master  had  not  slept  at  home. 
While  he  was  talking  to  her  Meadows  galloped  up  to  the 
door,  jumped  off,  and  almost  pulled  Crawley  upstairs  with 
him.  "Lock  the  door,  Crawley."  Crawley  obeyed,  but  with 
some  reluctance,  for  Meadows,  the  iron  Meadows,  was  ghast- 
ly and  shaken  as  he  had  never  been  shaken  before.  He  sank 
into  a  chair.    "Perdition  seize  the  hour  I  first  saw  her!"    As 

671 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

for  Crawley,  he  was  paralysed  by  the  terrible  agitation  of  a 
spirit  so  much  greater  than  his  own. 

"Crawley,"  said  Meadows,  with  a  sudden  unnatural  calm, 
"when  the  devil  buys  a  soul  for  money  how  much  does  he 
give?  a  good  lump,  I  hear.  He  values  our  souls  high — we 
don't,  some  of  us." 

"Mr.  Meadows,  sir." 

"Now  count  those,"  yelled  Meadows,  bursting  out  again, 
and  he  flung  a  roll  of  notes  furiously  on  the  ground  at 
Crawley's  feet,  "count  and  tell  me  what  my  soul  has  gone 
for.    Oh!  oh!" 

Crawley  seized  them  and  counted  them  as  fast  as  his  tremb- 
ling fingers  would  let  him.  So  now  an  eye  all  remorse,  and 
another  eye  all  greed,  were  bent  upon  the  same  thing. 

"Why,  they  are  all  hundred-pound  notes,  bright  as  silver 
from  the  Bank  of  England.  Oh,  dear !  how  new  and  crimp 
they  are!  where  do  they  come  from,  sir?" 

"From  Australia." 

"Ah !  oh  !  impossible !  No !  nothing  is  impossible  to  such 
a  man  as  you.     Twenty." 

"They  are  at  Newborough — slept  at  'King's  Head,'  "  whis- 
pered Meadows. 

"Good  heavens !  think  of  that.     Thirty " 

"So  did  I." 

"Ah  !  forty — four  thousand  pounds." 

"The  lump  of  stuff  you  left  here  hocussed  one — it  was  a 
toss  up — luck  was  on  my  side — that  one  carried  them — slept 
like  death — long  while  hunting — found  them  under  his  pillow 
at  last." 

"Well  done !  and  we  fools  were  always  beat  at  it.  Sixty — 
one — two — five — seven.     Seven  thousand  pounds." 

"Seven  thousand  pounds!  Who  would  have  thought  it? 
This  is  a  dear  job  to  me." 

"Say  a  dear  job  to  them  and  a  glorious  haul  to  you;  but 
you  deserve  it  all,  ah !" 

"Why,  you  fool,"  cried  Meadows,  "do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  keep  the  men's  money  ?" 

"Keep  it !  why,  of  course." 

"What!  am  I  a  thief?  I,  John  Meadows,  that  never 
wronged  a  man  of  a  penny.     I  take  his  sweetheart,  I  can't 

672 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND" 

live  without  her;  but  I  can  live  without  his  money.  I  have 
crimes  enough  on  my  head,  but  not  theft ;  there  I  say  halt." 

"Then  why,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  did  you  take  them  at 
such  a  risk  ?"  Crawley  put  this  question  roughly,  for  he  was 
losing  his  respect  for  his  idol. 

"You  are  as  blind  as  a  mole,  Crawley,"  was  the  disdain- 
ful answer.  "Don't  you  see  that  I  have  made  George  Field- 
ing penniless,  and  that  now  old  Merton  won't  let  him  have 
his  daughter.  Why  should  he?  He  said,  Tf  you  come  back 
with  one  thousand  pounds.'  And  don't  you  see  that  when 
the  writ  is  served  on  old  Merton  he  will  be  as  strong  as  fire 
for  me  and  against  him.  He  can't  marry  her  at  all  now.  I 
shall  soon  or  late,  and  the  day  I  marry  Susan  that  same 
afternoon  seven  thousand  pounds  will  be  put  in  George 
Fielding's  hand ;  he  won't  know  by  whom,  but  you  and  I 
shall  know.    I  am  a  sinner,  but  not  a  villain." 

Crawley  gave  a  dissatisfied  grunt.  Meadows  struck  a  luci- 
fer-match  and  lighted  a  candle.  He  placed  the  candle  in  the 
grate — it  was  warm  weather.  "Come  now,"  said  he  coolly, 
"burn  them  ;  then  they  will  tell  no  tales." 

Crawley  gave  a  shriek  like  a  mother  whose  child  is  falling 
out  of  window,  and  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  with  the 
notes  in  his  hand  behind  his  back.  "No !  no !  sir !  Oh,  don't 
think  of  it.  Talk  of  crime !  what  are  all  the  sins  we  have 
done  together  compared  with  this  ?  You  would  not  burn  a 
wheat-rick,  no,  not  your  greatest  enemy's ;  I  know  you  would 
not,  you  are  too  good  a  man.  This  is  as  bad ;  the  good  money 
that  the  bountiful  Heaven  has  given  us  for — for  the  good  of 
man." 

"Come,"  said  Meadows  sternly,  "no  more  of  this  folly," 
and  he  laid  his  iron  grasp  on  Crawley. 

"Mercy !  mercy !  think  of  me — of  your  faithful  servant, 
who  has  risked  his  life  and  stuck  at  nothing  for  you.  How 
ungrateful  great  men  are!" 

"Ungrateful,  Crawley !  Can  you  look  me  in  the  face  and 
say  that?" 

"Never  till  now,  but  now  I  can ;"  and  Crawley  rose  to  his 
feet  and  faced  the  great  man :  the  prize  he  was  fighting  for 
gave  him  supernatural  courage.  "To  whom  do  you  owe 
them?     To  me.     You  could  never  have  had  them  but  for 

673 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

my  drug-.  And  yet  you  would  burn  them  before  my  eyes — 
a  fortune  to  poor  me." 

"To  you  ?" 

"Yes !  What  does  it  matter  to  you  what  becomes  of  them 
so  that  he  never  sees  them  again?  but  it  matters  all  to  me. 
Give  them  to  me,  and  in  twelve  hours  I  will  be  in  France 
with  them.  You  won't  miss  me,  sir.  I  have  done  my  work. 
And  it  will  be  more  prudent,  for  since  I  have  left  you,  I 
can't  help  drinking,  and  I  might  talk,  you  know,  sir,  I 
might,  and  let  out  what  we  should  both  be  sorry  for.  Send 
me  away  to  foreign  countries  where  I  can  keep  travelling, 
and  make  it  always  summer.  I  hate  the  long  nights  when 
it  is  dark.  I  see  such  cu-u-rious  things.  Pray !  pray  let  me 
go  and  take  these  with  me,  and  never  trouble  you  again." 

The  words,  though  half  nonsense,  were  the  other  half 
cunning,  and  the  tones  and  looks  were  piteous.  Meadows 
hesitated.  Crawley  knew  too  much ;  to  get  rid  of  him  was  a 
bait ;  and  after  all,  to  annihilate  the  thing  he  had  been  all  his 
life  accumulating  went  against  his  heart.  He  rang  the  bell. 
"Hide  the  notes,  Crawley.  Bring  me  two  shirts,  a  razor, 
and  a  comb.     Crawley,  these  are  the  terms.     That  you  don't 

go   near   that   woman "    Crawley   with    a   brutal    phrase 

expressed  his  delight  at  the  idea  of  getting  rid  of  her  for 
ever.  "That  you  go  at  once  to  the  railway.  Station  opens 
to-day.  First  train  starts  in  an  hour.  Up  to  London,  over 
to  France  this  evening." 

"I  will,  sir.  Hurrah !  hurrah  !"  Then  Crawley  burst  into 
protestations  of  gratitude  which  Meadows  cut  short.  He 
rang  for  breakfast,  fed  his  accomplice,  gave  him  a  great- 
coat for  his  journey,  and  took  the  precaution  of  going  with 
him  to  the  station.  There  he  shook  hands  with  him  and 
returned  to  the  principal  street  and  entered  the  bank. 

Crawley  kept  faith,  he  hugged  his  treasure  to  his  bosom 
and  sat  down  waiting  for  the  train.  "Luck  is  on  our  side," 
thought  he ;  "if  this  had  been  open  yesterday  those  two  would 
have  come  on  from  Newborough." 

He  watched  the  preparations ;  they  were  decorating  the 
locomotive  with  bouquets  and  branches.  They  did  not  start 
punctually,  some  soi-disant  great  people  had  not  arrived.  "I 
will  have  a  dram,"  thought  Crawley ;  he  went  and  had  three : 

674 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

then  he  came  back,  and  as  he  was  standing  inspecting  the 
carriages  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder :  he  looked  round ; 
it  was  Mr.  Wood,  a  functionary  with  whom  he  had  often 
done  business. 

"Ah !  Wood !  how  d'ye  do  ?    Going  to  make  the  first  trip  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  have  business  detains  me  in  town." 

"What!  a  capias,  eh?"  chuckled  Crawley. 

"Something  of  the  sort.  There  is  a  friend  of  yours  hard 
by  wants  to  speak  a  word  to  you." 

"Come  along,  then.    Where  is  he?" 

"This  way,  sir." 

Crawley  followed  Wood  to  the  waiting-room,  and  there  on 
a  bench  sat  Isaac  Levi.  Crawley  stopped  dead  short,  and 
would  have  drawn  back,  but  Levi  beckoned  to  a  seat  near 
him.  Crawley  came  walking  like  an  automaton  from  whose 
joints  the  oil  had  suddenly  dried.  With  infinite  repugnance 
he  took  the  seat,  not  liking  to  refuse  before  several  persons 
who  saw  the  invitation.  Mr.  Wood  sat  on  the  other  side  of 
him.  "What  does  it  all  mean?"  thought  Crawley,  but  his 
cue  was  to  seem  indifferent  or  flattered. 

"You  have  shaved  your  beard,  Mr.  Crawley,"  said  Isaac 
in  a  low  tone. 

"My  beard !  I  never  had  one,"  replied  Crawley  in  the  same 
key. 

"Yes,  you  had  when  last  I  saw  you — in  the  gold  mine; 
you  set  ruffians  to  abuse  me,  sir." 

"Don't  you  believe  that,  Mr.  Levi." 

"I  saw  it  and  felt  it." 

The  peculiarity  of  this  situation  was,  that  the  room  being 
full  of  people,  both  parties  wished,  each  for  his  own  reason, 
not  to  excite  general  attention,  and  therefore  delivered  scarce 
above  a  whisper  the  sort  of  matter  that  is  generally  uttered 
very  loud  and  excitedly. 

"It  is  my  turn  now,"  whispered  Levi ;  "an  eye  for  an  eye, 
a  tooth  for  a  tooth." 

"You  must  look  sharp  then,"  whispered  Crawley;  "to- 
morrow perhaps  you  may  not  have  the  chance." 

"I  never  postpone  vengeance — when  it  is  ripe." 

"Don't  you,  sir?  dear  me!" 

"You  have  seven  thousand  pounds  about  you,  Mr.  Craw- 

675 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

ley."  Crawley  started  and  trembled.  "Stolen!"  whispered 
Isaac  in  his  every  ear.    "Give  it  up  to  the  officer." 

Crawley  rose  instinctively.  A  firm  hand  was  laid  on  each 
of  his  arms ;  he  sat  down  again.  "What — what — ever  money 
I  have  is  trusted  to  me  by  the  wealthiest  and  most  respect- 
able man  in  the  cou — nty,  and " 

"Stolen  by  him,  received  by  you !  Give  it  to  Wood,  unless 
you  prefer  a  public  search." 

"You  can't  search  me  without  a  warrant." 

"Here  is  a  warrant  from  the  mayor.  Take  the  notes  out 
of  your  left  breast  and  give  them  to  the  officer,  or  we  must 
do  it  by  force  and  publicity." 

"I  won't  without  Mr.  Meadows's  authority.  Send  for  Mr. 
Meadows  if  you  dare." 

Isaac  reflected.  "Well,  we  will  take  you  to  Mr.  Meadows. 
Keep  the  money  till  you  see  him,  but  we  must  secure  you. 
Put  his  coat  over  his  hands  first." 

The  greatcoat  was  put  over  his  hands,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment under  the  coat  was  heard  a  little  sharp  click. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  carriage,"  said  Levi  in  a  brisk,  cheerful 
tone. 

Those  present  heard  the  friendly  invitation,  and  saw  a 
little  string  of  acquaintances,  three  in  number,  break  up  a 
conversation  and  go  and  get  into  a  fly :  one  carried  a  great- 
coat and  bundle  before  him  with  both  hands. 


CHAPTER    LXXXIV. 

MR.  MEADOWS  went  to  the  bank,  into  the  parlour,  and 
said  he  must  draw  seven  thousand  pounds  of  cash 
and  securities.    The  partners  look  blank. 

"I  knew,"  said  Meadows,  "I  should  cripple  you.  Well,  I 
am  not  going  to,  nor  let  any  one  else — it  would  not  suit  my 
book.  Just  hand  me  the  securities  and  let  me  make  over  that 
sum  to  George  Fielding  and  Thomas  Robinson.  There !  now 
for  some  months  to  come  those  two  men  are  not  to  know 
how  rich  they  are,  in  fact,  not  till  I  tell  them."  A  very  ready 
consent  to  this  was  given  by  both  partners;  I  am  afraid  I 
might  say  an  eager  consent. 

676 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

"There !  now  I  feel  another  man,  that  is  off  me  any  way," 
and  Meadows  strode  home  double  the  man.  Soon  his  new 
top-boots  were  on,  and  his  new  dark-blue  coat  with  flat 
double-gilt  buttons,  and  his  hat  broadish  in  the  brim,  and 
he  looked  the  model  of  a  British  yeoman ;  he  reached  Grass- 
mere  before  eleven  o'clock.  It  was  to  be  a  very  quiet  wed- 
ding, but  the  bridesmaids,  &c.,  were  there,  and  Susan,  all  in 
white,  pale,  but  very  lovely.  Father-in-law  cracking  jokes, 
Susan  writhing  under  them. 

"Now,  then,  is  it  to  be  a  wedding  without  bells,  for  I  hear 


none 


"That  it  shall  not,"  cried  one  of  the  young  men;  and  off 
they  ran  to  the  church. 

Meantime  Meadows  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  mirth- 
ful scene.  He  was  in  a  violent  excitement  that  passed  with 
the  rustics  for  gaiety  natural  to  the  occasion.  They  did  not 
notice  his  anxious  glances  up  the  hill  that  led  to  New- 
borough  ;  his  eager  and  repeated  looks  at  his  watch,  the  sigh 
of  relief  when  the  church  bells  pealed  out,  the  tremors  of 
impatience,  the  struggle  to  appear  cool  as  he  sent  one  to 
hurry  the  clerk,  another  to  tell  the  clergyman  the  bride  was 
ready;  the  stamp  of  the  foot  when  one  of  the  bridesmaids 
took  ten  minutes  to  tie  on  a  bonnet.  He  walked  arm-in-arm 
with  Susan  waiting  for  this  girl ;  at  last  she  was  ready.  Then 
came  one  running  to  say  that  the  parson  was  not  come  home 
yet.  What  it  cost  him  not  to  swear  at  the  parson,  with 
Susan  on  his  arm  and  the  church  in  sight ! 

While  he  was  thus  fuming  inwardly,  a  handsome,   dark- 
eyed  youth  came  up  and  inquired  which  was  the  bride.     She 
was  pointed  out  to  him.    "A  letter  for  vou,  Miss  Merton."' 
"For  me?    Who  from?" 

She  glanced  at  the  handwriting,  and  Meadows  looked 
keenly  in  the  boy's  face.  "A  Jew,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"Susan,  you  have  got  your  gloves  on."  And  in  a  moment 
he  took  the  letter  from  her,  but  quietly,  and  opened  it  as  if 
to  return  it  to  her  to  read.  He  glanced  down  it,  saw  "Jeffer- 
ies,  postmaster."  and  at  the  bottom  "Isaac  Levi."  With  won- 
derful presence  of  mind  he  tore  it  in  pieces.  "An  insult, 
Susan,"  he  cried.  "A  mean,  malignant  insult  to  set  you 
against  me — a  wife  against  her  husband." 

677 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


Ere  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  he  seized  the  young 
Jev/  and  whirled  him  Hke  a  feather  into  the  hands  of  his 
friends.  "Duck  him !"  cried  he.  And  in  a  moment,  spite  of 
his  remonstrances  and  attempts  at  explanation,  Nathan  was 
flung  into  the  horsepond.  He  struggled  out  on  the  other 
side  and  stood  on  the  bank  in  a  stupor  of  rage  and  terror, 
while  the  bridegroom  menaced  him  with  another  dose  should 
he  venture  to  return.  *T  will  tell  you  all  about  it  to-morrow, 
Susan." 

"Calm  yourself,"  replied  Susan.  "I  know  you  have 
enemies,  but  why  punish  a  messenger  for  the  letter  he  only 
carries  ?" 

"You  are  an  angel,  Svisan.  Boys,  let  him  alone,  do  you 
hear?"     N.B.     He  had  been  ducked. 

And  now  a  loud  hurrah  was  heard  from  behind  the  church. 
"The  parson  at  last,"  cried  Meadows  exultingly.  Susan 
lowered  her  eyes,  and  hated  herself  for  the  shiver  that  passed 
through  her.    To  her  the  parson  was  the  executioner. 

It  was  not  the  parson.  The  next  moment  two  figures  came 
round  in  sight.  Meadows  turned  away  with  a  groan. 
"George  Fielding!"  said  he.  The  words  dropped  as  it  were 
out  of  his  mouth. 

Susan  misunderstood  this.  She  thought  he  read  her  heart, 
and  ascribed  her  repugnance  to  her  lingering  attachment  to 
George.  She  was  angry  with  herself  for  letting  this  worthy 
man  see  her  want  of  pride.  "Why  do  you  mention  that  name 
to  me?  What  do  I  care  for  him  who  has  deceived  me?  I 
wish  he  stood  at  the  church-door  that  he  might  see  how 
I  would  look  at  him  and  pass  him  leaning  on  your  faithful 
arm." 

"Susan !"  cried  a  well-known  voice  behind  her.  She 
trembled  and  almost  crouched  ere  she  turned ;  but  the  moment 
she  turned  round  she  gave  a  scream  that  brought  all  the 
company  running,  and  the  bride  forgot  everything  at  the 
sight  of  George's  handsome  honest  face  beaming  truth  and 
love,  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  George  kissed  the 
bride. 

"Oh !"  cried  the  bridesmaids,  awaking  from  their  stupor 
and  remembering  this  was  her  old  lover.  "Oh !"  "Oh ! !" 
"Oh ! ! !"  on  an  ascending  scale. 

678 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

These  exclamations  bought  Susan  to  her  senses.  She 
sprang  from  George  as  though  an  adder  had  stung  her,  and, 
red  as  fire,  with  eyes  hke  basiUsks,  she  turned  on  him  at  a 
safe  distance.  "How  dare  you  embrace  me?  How  dare 
you  come  where  I  am?  Father,  ask  this  man  why  he  comes 
here  now  to  make  me  expose  myself,  and  insult  the  honest 
man  who  honours  me  with  his  respect.  Oh,  father !  come 
to  me  and  take  me  away  from  here." 

"Susan,  what  on  earth  is  this  ?  what  have  I  done  ?" 

"What  have  you  done  ?  You  are  false  to  me !  you  never 
wrote  me  a  letter  for  twelve  months,  and  you  are  married 
to  a  lady  in  Bathurst !     Oh,  George !" 

"If  he  is,"  cried  Robinson,  "he  must  be  slyer  than  I  give 
him  credit  for,  for  I  have  never  left  his  side  night  nor  day, 
and  I  never  saw  him  say  three  civil  words  to  a  woman." 

"Mr.  Robinson!" 

"Yes,  Mr,  Robinson.  Somebody  has  been  making  a  fool 
of  you.  Miss  Merton.  Why,  all  his  cry  night  and  day  has 
been  'Susan !  Susan !'  When  we  found  the  great  nugget  he 
kissed  it,  and  says  he,  'There,  that  is  not  because  you  are 
gold,  but  because  you  take  me  to  Susan.'  " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Tom,"  said  George  sternly.  "Who 
puts  me  on  my  defence?  Is  there  any  man  here  who  has 
been  telling  her  I  have  ever  had  a  thought  of  any  girl  but 
her?  If  there  is,  let  him  stand  out  now,  and  say  it  to  my 
face  if  he  dares."  There  was  a  dead  silence.  "There  is  a  lie 
without  a  backer,  it  seems;"  and  he  looked  round  on  all  the 
company  with  his  calm  superior  eye.  "And  now,  Susan, 
what  were  you  doing  on  that  man's  arm?" 

"Oh !" 

"Miss  Merton  and  I  are  to  be  married  to-day,"  said  Mead- 
ows, "that  is  why  I  gave  her  my  arm." 

George  gasped  for  breath,  but  he  controlled  himself  by  a 
mighty  effort.  "She  thought  me  false,  and  now  she  knows 
I  am  true.  Susan,"  faltered  he,  "I  say  nothing  about  the 
promises  that  have  passed  between  us  two  and  the  ring  you 
gave.     Here  it  is." 

"He  has  kept  my  ring !" 

"I  was  there  before  you,  Mr.  Meadows,  but  I  won't  stand 
upon  that ;  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  man  in  the  world  loves 

679 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 


a  woman  in  the  world  better  than  I  love  Susan,  but  still  I 
would  not  give  a  snap  of  the  finger  to  have  her  if  her  will 
was  towards  another.  So  please  yourself,  my  lass,  and  don't 
cry  like  that :  only  this  must  end.  I  won't  live  in  doubt  a 
moment,  no  nor  half  a  moment.  Speak  your  pleasure  and 
nothing  else ;  choose  between  John  Meadows  and  George 
Fielding." 

"That  is  fair,"  cried  one  of  the  bridegrooms.  The  women 
secretly  admired  George.  This  is  a  man,  thought  they,  won't 
stand  our  nonsense. 

Susan  looked  up  in  mute  astonishment.  "What  choice  can 
there  be?  The  moment  I  saw  your  face  and  truth  still  shin- 
ing in  it,  I  forgot  there  was  a  John  Meadows  in  the  world." 
With  these  words  Susan  cast  a  terrified  look  all  round,  and 
losing  every  other  feeling  in  a  paroxysm  of  shame,  hid  her 
burning  face  in  her  hands  ,and  made  a  sudden  bolt  into  the 
house  and  upstairs  to  her  room,  where  she  was  followed 
and  discovered  by  one  of  her  bridesmaids  tearing  oflf  her 
wedding-clothes,  and  laughing  and  crying  all  in  a  breath. 

ist  Bridegroom. — Well,  Josh  what  d'ye  think? 

2nd  Bridegroonu. — Why,  I  think  there  won't  be  a  wedding 
to-day. 

ist  Bridegroom. — No,  nor  to-morrow  neither.  Sal,  put 
on  your  bonnet  and  lets  you  and  I  go  home.  I  came  to 
Meadows's  wedding ;  mustn't  stay  to  anybody's  else's." 

These  remarks  were  delivered  openly,  pro  bono,  and  dis- 
solved the  wedding  party.  Four  principal  parties  remained: 
Meadows,  old  Merton,  and  the  two  friends. 

"Well,  uncle,  Susan  has  spoken  her  mind — now  you  speak 
yours." 

"George,  I  have  been  an  imprudent  fool,  I  am  on  the  brink 
of  ruin.  I  owe  more  than  two  thousand  pounds.  We  heard 
you  had  changed  your  mind,  and  Meadows  came  forward 
like  a  man  and  said  he  would " 

"Your  word,  uncle — your  promise.  I  crossed  the  seas  on 
the  faith  of  it." 

An  upper  window  was  gently  opened,  and  a  blushing  face 
listened,  and  the  hand  that  they  were  all  discussing  and  dis- 
posing of  drew  back  a  Httle  curtain  and  clutched  it  convul- 
sively. 

680 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"You  did,  George,"  said  the  old  farmer. 

"Says  you,  'Bring  back  a  thousand  pounds  to  show  me  you 
are  not  a  fool,  and  you  shall  have  my  daughter,'  and  she 
was  to  have  your  blessing.  Am  I  right,  Mr.  Meadows  ?  you 
were  present." 

"Those  were  the  words,"  replied  Meadows, 

"Well,  and  have  you  brought  back  the  thousand  pounds?" 

"I  have." 

"John,  I  must  stand  to  my  word ;  and  I  will — it  is  justice. 
Take  the  girl,  and  be  as  happy  as  you  can  with  her ;  and 
her  father  in  the  workhouse." 

"I  take  her,  and  that  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  neither  her 
father  nor  any  one  she  respects  shall  go  to  the  workhouse. 
How  much  is  my  share,  Tom  ?" 

"Four  thousand  pounds." 

"No,  not  so  much." 

"Yes,  it  is.  Jacky  gave  you  his  share  of  the  great  nugget, 
and  you  gave  him  sheep  in  return.  Here  they  are,  lads  and 
lasses,  seventy  of  them,  varying  from  one  five  six  nought  to 
one  six  two  nine,  and  all  as  crimp  as  a  muslin  gown  new 
starched.  Why,  I  never  put  this,"  and  he  took  pieces  of  news- 
paper out  of  his  pocket-book,  and  looked  stupidly  at  each 
as  it  came  out. 

"Why,  Tom?" 

"Robbed !" 

"Robbed,  Tom?" 

"Robbed !  oh !  I  put  the  book  under  my  pillow,  and  there 
I  found  it  this  morning.  Robbed !  robbed !  Kill  me,  George, 
I  have  ruined  you." 

"I  can't  speak,"  gasped  George.  "Oh,  what  is  the  meaning 
of  this?" 

"But  I  can  speak !  Don't  tell  me  of  a  London  thief  being 
robbed ! ! !  George  Fielding,  if  you  are  a  man  at  all,  go  and 
leave  me  and  my  daughter  in  peace.  If  you  had  come  home 
with  money  to  keep  her,  I  was  ready  to  give  you  Susan  to 
my  own  ruin.  Now  it  is  your  turn  to  show  yourself  the 
right  stufif.  My  daughter  has  given  her  hand  to  a  man  who 
can  make  a  lady  of  her,  and  set  me  on  my  legs  again.  You 
can  only  beggar  us.  Don't  stand  in  the  poor  girl's  light ;  for 
pitv's  sake,  George,  leave  us  in  peace." 

68i 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"You  are  right,  old  man;  my  head  is  confused,"  and 
George  put  his  hand  feebly  to  his  brow,  "but  I  seem  to  see  it 
is  my  duty  to  go,  and  I'll  go."  George  staggered.  Robinson 
made  towards  him  to  support  him.  "There,  don't  make  a 
fuss  with  me.  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me — only 
my  heart  is  dead.  Let  me  sit  on  this  bench  and  draw  my 
breath  a  minute — and  then — I'll  go.  Give  me  your  hand, 
Tom.  Never  heed  their  jibes.  I'd  trust  you  with  more  gold 
than  the  best  of  them  was  ever  worth." 

Robinson  began  to  blubber  the  moment  George  took  his 
hand  spite  of  the  money  lost.  "We  worked  hard  for  it  too, 
good  folks,  and  risked  our  lives  as  well  as  our  toil ;"  and 
George  and  Robinson  sat  hand  in  hand  upon  the  bench  and 
turned  their  heads  away — that  it  was  pitiful  to  see. 

But  still  the  pair  held  one  another  by  the  hand,  and  George 
said,  faltering,  "I  have  got  this  left  me  still.  Ay,  I  have 
heard  say  that  friendship  was  better  than  love,  and  I  dare- 
say so  it  is." 

As  if  to  plead  against  this  verdict,  Susan  came  timidly  to 
her  lover  in  his  sorrow,  and  sat  on  his  other  side,  and  laid 
her  head  gently  on  his  shoulder.  "What  signifies  money  to 
us  two?"  she  murmured.  "Oh,  I  have  been  robbed  of  what 
was  dearer  than  life  this  bitter  year,  and  now  you  are  down- 
hearted at  loss  of  money.  How  fullish  to  grieve  for  such 
nonsense  when  I  am  so  hap — hap — happy!"  and  again  the 
lovely  face  rested  light  as  down  on  George's  shoulder,  weep- 
ing deliciously. 

"It  is  hard,  Tom,"  gasped  George,  "it  is  bitter  hard ;  but 
I  shall  find  a  little  bit  of  manhood  by-and-by  to  do  my  duty. 
Give  me  breath  !  only  give  me  breath  !  We  will  go  back  again 
where  we  came  from,  Tom ;  only  I  shall  have  nothing  to 
work  for  now.  Where  is  William,  if  you  please?  Has  he 
forgotten  me  too?" 

"William  is  in  prison  for  debt,"  said  old  Merton  gravely. 

"No,  he  is  not,"  put  in  Meadows,  "for  I  sent  the  money 
to  let  him  out  an  hour  ago." 

"You  sent  the  money  to  let  my  brother  out  of  gaol  ?  That 
sounds  queer  to  me.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you,  but  I 
can't." 

"I  don't  ask  your  thanks,  voung  man." 

682 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

"You  see,  George,"  said  old  Merton,  "ours  is  a  poor  fam- 
ily, and  it  will  be  a  great  thing  for  us  all  to  have  such  a  man 
as  Mr.  Meadows  in  it,  if  you  will  only  let  us." 

"Oh,  father,  you  make  me  blush,"  cried  Susan,  beginning 
to  get  her  first  glimpse  of  his  character. 

"He  doesn't  make  me  blush."  cried  George;  "but  he  makes 
me  sick.  This  old  man  would  make  me  walk  out  of  heaven 
if  he  was  in  it.     Come,  let  us  go  back  to  Australia." 

"Ay,  that  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  cried  old  Merton. 

"If  he  does,  I  shall  go  with  him,"  said  Susan  with  sudden 
calmness.  She  added,  dropping  her  voice,  "If  he  thinks  me 
worthy  to  go  anywhere  with  him." 

"You  are  worthy  of  better  than  that,  and  better  shall  be 
your  luck,"  and  George  sat  down  on  the  bench  with  one  bitter 
sob  that  seemed  to  tear  his  manly  heart  in  two. 

There  was  a  time  Meadows  would  have  melted  at  this  sad 
sight,  but  now  it  enraged  him.  He  whispered  fiercely  to  old 
Merton,  "Touch  him  on  his  pride;  get  rid  of  him.  and  your 

debts  shall  be  all  paid  that  hour :  if  not "     He  then  turned 

to  the  heart-stricken  trio,  touched  his  hat,  "Good  day,  all  the 
company,"  said  he,  and  strode  away  with  rage  in  his  heart  to 
set  the  law  in  motion  against  old  Merton,  and  so  drive  mat- 
ters to  a  point. 

But  before  he  had  taken  a  dozen  steps  he  was  met  by  two 
men  who  planted  themselves  right  before  him.  "You  can't 
pass,  sir." 

Meadows  looked  at  them  with  humorous  surprise.  They 
had  hooked  noses.  He  did  not  like  that  so  well.  "Why 
not?"  said  he  quietly,  but  with  a  wicked  look. 

One  of  the  men  whistled,  a  man  popped  out  of  the  church- 
yard and  joined  the  two;  he  had  a  hooked  nose.  Another 
came  through  the  gate  from  the  lane;  another  from  behind 
the  house.  The  scene  kept  quietly  filling  with  hooked  noses, 
till  it  seemed  as  if  the  ten  tribes  were  reassembling  from  the 
four  winds. 

"Are  they  going  to  pitch  into  me  ?"  thought  Meadows,  and 
he  felt  in  his  pocket  to  see  if  his  pistol  was  there. 

Meantime  George  and  Susan  and  Tom  rose  to  their  feet  in 
some  astonishment. 

"There  is  a  chentleman  coming  to  put  a  question  or  two," 

683  ^ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

said  the  first  speaker.  And  in  fact  an  old  acquaintance  of 
ours,  Mr.  Williams,  came  riding  up,  and  hooking  his  horse  to 
the  gate,  came  in,  saying,  "Oh,  here  you  are,  Mr.  Meadows. 
There  is  a  ridiculous  charge  brought  against  you,  but  I  am 
obliged  to  hear  it  before  dismissing  it.  Give  me  a  seat.  Oh, 
here  is  a  bench.  It  is  very  hot.  I  am  informed  that  two 
men  belonging  to  this  place  have  been  robbed  of  seven  thou- 
sand pounds  at  the  'King's  Head' — the  'King's  Head'  in 
Newborough.'- 

"It  is  true,  sir,"  cried  Robinson ;  "but  how  did  you  know  ?" 

*T  am  here  to  ask  questions,"  was  the  sharp  answer.  "Who 
are  you?" 

"Thomas  Robinson." 

"Which  is  George  Fielding?" 

"1  am  George  Fielding,  sir." 

"Have  you  been  robbed?" 

"We  have,  sir." 

"Of  how  much?" 

"Seven  thousand  pounds." 

"Come,  that  tallies  with  the  old  gentleman's  account. 
Hum !  where  did  you  sleep  last  night,  Mr.  Meadows  ?" 

"At  the  'King's  Head'  in  Newborough,  sir,"  replied  Mead- 
ows without  any  visible  hesitation. 

"Well,  that  is  curious — but  I  need  not  say  I  don't  believe 
it  is  more  than  coincidence.  Where  is  the  old  gentleman? 
Oh,  give  way  there  and  let  him  come  here." 

Now  all  this  was  inexplicable  to  Meadows,  but  still  it 
brought  a  deadly  thrill  of  vague  apprehension  over  him.  He 
felt  as  if  a  huge  gossamer  net  was  closing  round  him.  An- 
other moment  the  only  spider  capable  of  spinning  it  stood  in 
front  of  him.  "I  thought  so,"  dropped  from  his  lips  as  Isaac 
Levi  and  he  stood  once  more  face  to  face. 

"I  accuse  that  man  of  the  theft.  Nathan  and  I  heard  him 
tell  Crawley  that  he  had  drugged  the  young  man's  liquor  and 
stolen  the  notes.  Then  we  heard  Crawley  beg  for  the  notes, 
and  after  much  entreaty  he  gave  them  him." 

"It  is  true !"  cried  Robinson  in  violent  agitation ;  "it  must 
be  true.  You  know  what  a  light  sleeper  I  am,  and  how  often 
you  had  to  shake  me  this  morning.  I  was  hocussed,  and  no 
mistake !" 

684 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Silence !" 

"Yes,  your  worship." 

"Where  were  you,  Mr.  Levi,  to  hear  all  this?" 

"In  the  east  room  of  my  house." 

"And  where  was  he?" 

"In  the  west  room  of  his  house." 

"It  is  impossible." 

"Say  not  so,  sir.  I  will  show  you  it  is  true.  Meantime  I 
will  explain  it." 

He  explained  his  contrivance  at  full.  Meadows  hung^  his 
head;  he  saw  how  terribly  the  subtle  Oriental  had  outwitted 
him ;  yet  his  presence  of  mind  never  for  a  moment  deserted 
him. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  offend  Mr. 
Levi,  and  he  is  my  sworn  enemy.  If  you  really  mean  to  go 
into  this  ridiculous  affair,  allow  me  to  bring  witnesses,  and  I 
will  prove  to  you  he  has  been  threatening  vengeance  against 
me  these  two  years — and  you  know  a  lie  is  not  much  to  a 
Jew.  Does  this  appear  likely?  I  am  worth  sixty  thousand 
pounds — why  should  I  steal  ?" 

"Why  indeed?"  said  Mr.  Williams. 

"I  stole  these  notes  to  give  them  away — that  is  your  story, 
is  it?" 

"Nay,  you  stole  them  to  beggar  your  rival,  whose  letters  to 
the  maiden  he  loved  you  had  intercepted  by  fraud  at  the  post- 
office  in  Farnborough."  Susan  and  George  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation at  the  same  moment.  "But  having  stole  them,  you 
gave  them  to  Crawley." 

"How  generous !"  sneered  Meadows.  "Well,  when  you 
find  Crawley  with  seven  thousand  pounds,  and  he  says  I  gave 
them  him,  Mr.  Williams  will  take  your  word  against  mine, 
and  not  till  then,  I  think." 

"Certainly  not — the  most  respectable  man  for  miles  round !" 

"So  be  it,"  retorted  Isaac  coolly.  "Nathan,  bring  Craw- 
ley." At  that  unexpected  word  Meadows  looked  round  for 
a  way  to  escape.  The  hook-nosed  ones  hemmed  him  in. 
Crawley  was  brought  out  of  the  fly  quaking  with  fear. 

"Sir,"  said  Levi,  "if  in  that  man's  bosom,  on  the  left-hand 
side,  the  missing  notes  are  not  found,  let  me  suffer  scorn; 
but  if  thev  be  found,  give  us  justice  on  the  evil-doer." 

685 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

The  constable  searched  Crawley  amidst  the  intense  anxiety 
of  all  present.  He  found  a  bundle  of  notes.  There  was  a 
universal  cry. 

"Stop,  sir !"  said  Robinson ;  "to  make  sure,  I  will  describe 
our  property — seventy  notes  of  one  hundred  pounds  each. 
Numbers  one  five  six  nought  to  one  six  two  nine." 

Mr.  Williams  examined  the  bundle,  and  at  once  handed 
them  over  to  Robinson,  who  shoved  them  hastily  into 
George's  hands,  and  danced  for  joy. 

Mr.  Williams  looked  ruefully  at  Meadows,  then  he  hesi- 
tated* then  turning  sharply  to  Crawley,  he  said,  "Where  did 
you  get  these?" 

Meadows  tried  to  catch  his  eye  and  prevail  on  him  to  say 
nothing;  but  Crawley,  who  had  not  heard  Levi's  evidence, 
made  sure  of  saving  himself  by  means  of  Meadows's  repu- 
tation. 

"I  had  them  from  Mr.  Meadows,"  he  cried ;  "and  what 
about  it?  It  is  not  the  first  time  he  has  trusted  me  with 
much  larger  sums  than  that." 

"Oh,  you  had  them  from  Mr.  Meadows?" 

"Yes,  I  had." 

"Mr.  Meadows,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  must  commit  you ;  but 
I  still  hope  you  will  clear  yourself  elsewhere." 

"I  have  not  the  least  uneasiness  about  that,  sir,  thank  you. 
You  will  admit  me  to  bail,  of  course." 

"Impossible !     Wood,  here  is  a  warrant ;  I  will  sign  it." 

While  the  magistrate  was  signing  the  warrant,  Meadows's 
head  fell  upon  his  breast;  he  seemed  to  collapse  standing. 

Isaac  Levi  eyed  him  scornfully.  "You  had  no  mercy  on 
the  old  Jew.  You  took  his  house  from  him,  not  for  your 
need,  but  for  hate.  So  he  made  that  house  a  trap  and  caught 
you  in  your  villainy." 

"Yes,  you  have  caught  me,"  cried  Meadows,  "but  you  will 
never  cage  me !"  and  in  a  moment  his  pistol  was  at  his  own 
temple  and  he  pulled  the  trigger — the  cap  failed;  he  pulled 
the  other  trigger,  the  other  cap  failed.  He  gave  a  yell  like  a 
wounded  tiger,  and  stood  at  bay  gnashing  his  teeth  with  rage 
and  despair.  Half-a-dozen  men  threw  themselves  upon  him, 
and  a  struggle  ensued  that  almost  baffles  description.  He 
dragged  those  six  men  about  up  and  down,  some  clinging  to 

686 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

his  legs,  some  to  his  body.  He  whirled  nearly  every  one  of 
them  to  the  ground  in  turn ;  and  when  by  pulling  at  his  legs 
they  got  him  down,  he  fought  like  a  badger  on  his  back, 
seized  two  by  the  throat,  and  putting  his  feet  under  another, 
drove  him  into  the  air  doubled  up  like  a  ball,  and  he  fell  on 
Levi  and  sent  the  old  man  into  Mr.  Williams's  arms,  who  sat 
down  with  a  Jew  in  his  lap  to  the  derangement  of  his  magis- 
terial dignity. 

At  last  he  was  mastered,  and  his  hands  tied  bethind  him 
with  two  handkerchiefs. 

"Take  the  rascal  to  gaol !"  cried  Williams  in  a  passion. 

Meadows  groaned.  "Ay !  take  me,"  said  he,  "you  can't 
make  me  live  there.  I've  lived  respected  all  these  years,  and 
now  I  shall  be  called  a  felon.  Take  me  where  I  may  hide 
my  head  and  die !"  and  the  wretched  man  moved  away  with 
feeble  steps,  his  strength  and  spirit  crushed  now  his  hands 
were  tied. 

Then  Crawley  followed  him,  abusing  and  reviling  him. 
"So  this  is  the  end  of  all  your  manoeuvring!  Oh,  what  a 
fool  I  was  to  side  with  such  a  bungler  as  you  against  Mr. 
Levi.  Here  am  I,  an  innocent  man,  ruined  through  knowing 
a  thief — ah !  you  don't  like  that  word,  but  what  else  are  you 
but  a  thief?"  and  so  he  followed  his  late  idol  and  heaped  re- 
proaches and  insults  on  him,  till  at  last  Meadows  turned 
round  and  cast  a  vague  look  of  mute  despair,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "How  am  I  fallen  when  this  can  trample  me !'' 

One  of  the  company  saw  this  look  and  understood  it. 
Yielding  to  an  impulse,  he  took  three  steps,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  Crawley.  "Ye  little  snake,"  said  he,  "let  the  man  alone !" 
and  he  sent  Crawley  spinning  like  a  teetotum;  then  turned 
on  his  own  heel  and  came  away,  looking  a  little  red  and 
ashamed  of  what  he  had  done.  My  readers  shall  guess  which 
of  the  company  this  was. 

Half-way  to  the  county  gaol  Meadows  and  Crawley  met 
William  Fielding  coming  back. 

It  took  hours  and  hours  to  realise  all  the  happiness  that 
had  fallen  on  two  loving  hearts.  First  had  to  pass  away 
many  a  spasm  of  terror  at  the  wrongs  they  had  sufifered,  the 
danger  they  had  escaped,  the  long  misery  they  had  grazed. 
Thev  remained  rooted  to  the  narrow  spot  of  ground  where 

687 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

such  great  and  strange  events  had  passed  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  their  destinies  had  fluctuated  so  violently,  and  all  ended 
in  joy  unspeakable.  And  everybody  put  question  to  every- 
body, and  all  compared  notes,  and  the  hours  fled  while  they 
unravelled  their  own  strange  story.  And  Susan  and  George 
almost  worshipped  Isaac  Levi ;  and  Susan  kissed  him  and 
called  him  her  father,  and  hung  upon  his  neck  all  gratitude. 
And  he  passed  his  hand  over  her  chestnut  hair,  and  said,  "Go 
to,  foolish  child,"  but  his  deep  rich  voice  trembled  a  little, 
and  wonderful  tenderness  and  benevolence  glistened  in  that 
fiery  eye. 

He  would  now  have  left  them,  but  nobody  there  would 
part  with  him ;  behoved  him  to  stay  and  eat  fish  and  pudding 
with  them — the  meat  they  would  excuse  him  if  he  would  be 
good  and  not  talk  about  going  again.  And  after  dinner 
George  and  Tom  must  tell  their  whole  story,  and  as  they  told 
their  eventful  lives,  it  was  observed  that  the  hearers  were  far 
more  agitated  than  the  narrators.  The  latter  had  been  in  a 
gold-mine ;  had  supped  so  full  of  adventures  and  crimes  and 
horrors  that  nothing  astonished  them,  and  they  were  made 
sensible  of  the  tremendous  scenes  they  had  been  through  by 
the  loud  ejaculation,  the  pallor,  the  excitement  of  their  hear- 
ers. As  for  Susan,  again  and  again  during  the  men's  narra- 
tives the  tears  streamed  down  her  face,  and  once  she  was 
taken  faint  at  George's  peril,  and  the  story  had  to  be  inter- 
rupted and  water  sprinkled  on  her,  and  the  men  in  their  inno- 
cence were  for  not  going  on  with  their  part,  but  she  per- 
emptorily insisted,  and  sneered  at  them  for  being  so  fullish 
as  to  take  any  notice  of  her  fullishness — she  would  have 
every  word ;  and  after  all,  was  he  not  there  alive  and  well, 
sent  back  to  her  safe  after  so  many  perils,  never,  never,  to 
leave  England  again ! 

"Oh,  giorno  felice!"  A  day  to  be  imagined,  or  described 
by  a  pen  a  thousand  times  greater  and  subtler  than  mine,  but 
of  this  be  sure — it  was  a  day  such  as  neither  to  Susan  nor 
George,  nor  to  you  nor  me,  nor  to  any  man  or  woman  upon 
earth,  has  ever  come  twice  between  the  cradle  and  the  grave. 


I 


I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 


CHAPTER   LXXXV. 

A  MONTH  of  Elysium.  And  then  one  day  George  asked 
Susan  plump  when  it  would  be  agreeable  to  her  to 
marry  him. 

"Marry  you,  George?"  replied  Susan,  opening  her  eyes. 
"Why,  never !  I  shall  never  marry  any  one  after — you  must 
be  well  aware  of  that."  Susan  proceeded  to  inform  George, 
that  though  fullishness  was  a  part  of  her  character,  selfish- 
ness was  not;  recent  events  had  destroyed  an  agreeable  delu- 
sion under  which  she  had  imagined  herself  worthy  to  be  Mrs. 
George  Fielding;  she  therefore,  though  with  some  reluctance, 
intended  to  resign  that  situation  to  some  wiser  and  better 
woman  than  she  had  turned  out.  In  this  agreeable  resolu- 
tion she  persisted,  varying  it  occasionally  with  little  showers 
of  tears  unaccompanied  by  the  slightest  convulsion  of  the 
muscles  of  the  face.  But  as  I  am  not  like  George  Fielding, 
in  love  with  Susan  Merton,  or  with  self-deception  (anoth- 
er's), I  spare  the  reader  all  the  pretty  things  this  young  lady 
said  and  believed  and  did  to  postpone  her  inevitable  happi- 
ness. Yes,  inevitable,  for  this  sort  of  thing  never  yet  kept 
lovers  long  apart  since  the  world  was,  except  in  a  novel 
worse  than  common.  I  will  but  relate  how  that  fine  fellow 
George  dried  "these  fullish  drops"  on  one  occasion. 

"Susan,"  said  he,  "if  I  had  found  you  going  to  be  married 
to  another  man  with  the  roses  on  your  cheek,  I  should  have 
turned  on  my  heel  and  back  to  Australia ;  but  a  look  in  your 
face  was  enough ;  you  were  miserable,  and  any  fool  could  see 
your  heart  was  dead  against  it.  Look  at  you  now,  blooming 
like  a  rose ;  so  what  is  the  use  of  us  two  fighting  against  hu- 
man nature.  We  can't  be  happy  apart — let  us  come  to- 
gether." 

"Ah !  George,  if  I  thought  vour  happiness  depended  on 
having  a  fullish  wife " 

"Why,  you  know  it  does,"  replied  the  inadvertent  Agricola. 

"That  alters  the  case;  sooner  than  you  should  be  unhappy 
—I  think— I " 

"Name  the  day  then." 

In  short,  the  bells  rang  a  merrv  peal,  and,  to  reconcile 

'*  "   689       ' 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

Susan  to  her  unavoidable  happiness,  Mr,  Eden  came  down 
and  gave  an  additional  weight  (in  her  way  of  viewing 
things)  to  the  marriage  ceremony  by  officiating.  It  must  be 
owned  that  this  favourable  circumstance  cost  her  a  few  tears 
too. 

How  so,  Mr.  Reade? 

Marry,  sir,  thus : — Mr.  Eden  was  what  they  call  eccentric ; 
among  his  other  deviations  from  usage,  he  delivered  the 
meaning  of  sentences  in  church  along  with  the  words. 

This  was  a  thunder-clap  to  poor  Susan.  She  had  often 
heard  a  chaunting  machine  utter  the  marriage  service  all  on 
one  note,  and  heard  it  with  a  certain  smile  of  unintelligent 
complacency  her  sex  wear  out  of  politeness ;  but  when  the 
man  Eden  told  her  at  the  altar  with  simple  earnestness  what 
a  high  and  deep  and  solemn  contract  she  was  making  then 
and  there  with  God  and  man,  she  began  to  cry  and  wept  like 
April  through  the  ceremony. 

I  have  not  quite  done  with  this  pair,  but  leave  them  a  few 
minutes,  for  some  words  are  due  to  other  characters,  and  to 
none  I  think  more  than  to  this  very  Mr.  Eden,  whose  zeal 
and  wisdom  brought  our  hero  and  unheroine  happily  togeth- 
er through  the  subtle  sequence  of  causes  I  have  related,  the 
prime  thread  a  converted  thief. 

Mr.  Eden's  strength  broke  down  under  the  prodigious  ef- 
fort to  defeat  the  effect  of  separate  confinement  on  the  bodies 
and  souls  of  his  prisoners.  Dr.  Gulson  ordered  him  abroad. 
Having  now  since  the  removal  of  Hawes  given  the  separate 
and  silent  system  a  long  and  impartial  trial,  his  last  public 
act  was  to  write  at  the  foot  of  his  report  a  solemn  protest 
against  it,  as  an  impious  and  mad  attempt  to  defy  God's  w^ill 
as  written  on  the  face  of  man's  nature ;  to  crush,  too.  those 
very  instincts  from  which  rise  communities,  cities,  laws,  pris- 
ons, churches,  civilisation,  and  to  wreck  souls  and  bodies 
under  pretence  of  curing  souls,  not  by  knowledge,  wisdom, 
patience.  Christian  love,  or  any  great  moral  effort,  but  by 
the  easy  and  physical  expedient  of  turning  one  key  on  each 
prisoner  instead  of  on  a  score. 

"These."  said  Mr.  Eden,  "are  the  dreams  of  selfish,  lazy, 
heartless,  dunces,  and  reckless  bigots,  dwarf  Robespierres, 
with    self-deceiving  hearts   that    dream   philanthropy,   fluent 

690 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

lips  that  cant  philanthropy,  and  hands  swift  to  shed  blood — 
which  is  not  blood  to  them — because  they  are  mere  sensual 
brutes,  so  low  in  intelligence,  that  although  men  are  mur- 
dered and  die  before  their  eyes,  they  cannot  see  it  was  mur- 
der, because  there  was  no  knocking  on  the  head  or  cutting  of 
throats." 

The  reverend  gentleman  then  formally  washed  his  hands 
of  the  bloodshed  and  reasonshed  of  the  separate  system,  and 
resigned  his  office,  earnestly  requesting  at  the  same  time  that 
as  soon  as  the  Government  should  come  round  to  his  opinion, 
they  would  permit  him  to  co-operate  in  any  enlightened  ex- 
periment where  God  should  no  longer  be  defied  by  a  knot  of 
worms  as  in  Gaol. 

Then  he  went  abroad ;  but  though  professedly  hunting 
health,  he  visited  and  inspected  half  the  principal  prisons  in 
Europe.  After  many  months  events  justified  his  prediction  : 
the  Government  started  a  large  prison  on  common  sense  and 
humanity,  and  Mr.  Lacy's  interest  procured  Mr.  Eden  the 
place  of  its  chaplain. 

This  prison  was  what  every  prison  in  the  English  prov- 
inces will  be  in  five  years'  time, — a  well-ordered  community, 
an  epitome  of  the  world  at  large,  for  which  a  prison  is  to 
prepare  men,  not  unfit  them,  as  frenzied  dunces  would  do ; 
it  was  also  a  self-sustaining  community  like  the  world.  The 
prisoners  ate  prisoner-grown  corn  and  meat,  wore  prisoner- 
made  clothes  and  bedding,  were  lighted  by  gas  made  in  the 
prison,  etc.,  etc..  etc.,  etc.  The  agricultural  labourers  had 
outdoor  work  suited  to  their  future  destiny,  and  mechanical 
trades  were  zealously  ransacked  for  the  city  rogues.  Anti- 
theft  reigned  triumphant.  No  idleness,  no  wicked  waste  of 
sweat.  The  members  of  this  community  sleep  in  separate 
cells,  as  men  do  in  other  well-ordered  communities,  but  they 
do  not  pine  and  wither  and  die  in  cells  for  offences  committed 
outside  the  prison  walls.  Here  if  you  see  a  man  caged  like 
a  wild  beast  all  day,  you  may  be  sure  he  is  there  not  so  much 
for  his  own  good,  as  for  that  of  the  little  community  in  which 
he  has  proved  himself  unworthy  to  mix  pro  fan.  Foul  lan- 
guage and  contamination  are  checkmated  here  not  by  the 
lazy,  selfish,  cruel  expedient  of  universal  solitude,  but  by 
Argus-like  surveillance.     Officers,  sufficient  in  number,  listen 

691 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

with  sharp  ears  and  look  with  keen  eyes.  The  contaminator 
is  sure  to  be  seized  and  confined  till  prudence,  if  not  virtue, 
ties  his  tongue :  thus  he  is  disarmed,  and  the  better-disposed 
encourage  one  another.  Compare  this  legitimate  and  neces- 
sary use  of  that  most  terrible  of  tortures,  the  cell,  with  the 
tigro-asinine  use  of  it  in  seven  English  prisons  out  of  nine 
at  the  present  date.  It  is  just  the  difference  between  arsenic 
as  used  by  a  good  physician  and  by  a  poisoner.  It  is  the  dif- 
ference between  a  razor-bladed  needle-pointed  knife  in  the 
hands  of  a  Christian,  a  philosopher,  a  skilled  surgeon,  and 
the  same  knife  in  the  hands  of  a  savage,  a  brute,  a  scoundrel, 
or  a  fanatical  idiot. 

Mr.  Eden  had  returned  from  abroad  but  a  fortnight  when 
he  was  called  on  to  unite  George  and  Susan. 

I  have  little  more  to  add  than  that  he  was  very  hard- 
worked  and  supremely  happy  in  his  new  situation,  and  that  I 
have  failed  to  do  him  justice  in  these  pages.  But  he  shall 
have  justice  one  day,  when  pitiless  asses  will  find  themselves 
more  foul  in  the  eyes  of  the  All-pure  than  the  thieves  they 
crushed  under  four  walls,  and  "The  just  shall  shine  forth  as 
the  sun,  and  they  that  turn^  many  to  righteousness  as  the 
stars  for  ever  and  ever." 

Thomas  Robinson  did  not  stay  long  at  Grassmere.  Things 
were  said  in  the  village  that  wounded  him.  Ill-repute  will 
not  stop  directly  ill-conduct  does.  He  went  to  see  Mr.  Eden, 
sent  his  name  in  as  Mr.  Sinclair,  was  received  with  open 
arms,  and  gave  the  good  man  a  glow  of  happiness  such  as 
most  of  us,  I  fear,  go  to  the  grave  without  feeling  or  earning. 
He  presented  him  with  a  massive  gold  ring  he  had  hammered 
out  of  a  nugget.  Mr.  Eden  had  never  worn  a  ring  in  his  life, 
but  he  wore  this  with  an  innocent  pride,  and  showed  it  people 
and  valued  it  more  than  he  would  the  Pitt  diamond,  which  a 
French  king  bought  of  an  English  subject,  and  the  price  was 
so  heavy  he  paid  for  it  by  instalments  spread  over  many 
years. 

Robinson  very  wisely  went  back  to  Australia,  and,  more 
wiselv  still,  married  Jenny,  with  whom  he  had  corresponded 
ever  since  he  left  her. 

I  have  no  fear  he  will  ever  break  the  eighth  commandment 
'  Not  crush. 
692 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

again.  His  heart  was  touched  long  ago,  and  ever  since  then 
his  understanding  had  received  conviction  upon  conviction ; 
for  oh !  the  blaze  of  light  that  enters  our  souls  when  our  fate 
puts  us  in  his  place — in  her  place — in  their  place — whom  we 
used  to  strike,  never  realising  how  it  hurt  them.  He  is  re- 
spected for  his  intelligence  and  good  nature ;  he  is  sober,  in- 
dustrious, pushing,  and  punctilious  in  business.  One  trait  of 
the  Bohemian  remains ;  about  every  four  months  a  restless- 
ness comes  over  him ;  then  the  wise  Jenny  of  her  own  accord 
proposes  a  trip.  Poor  Tom's  eyes  sparkle  directly ;  off  they 
go  together.  A  foolish  wife  would  have  made  him  go  alone. 
They  come  back,  and  my  lord  goes  to  his  duties  with  fresh 
zest  till  the  periodical  fit  comes  again.  No  harm  ever  comes 
of  it. 

Servants  are  at  a  great  premium,  masters  at  a  discount  in 
the  colony :  hence  a  domestic  phenomenon,  which  my  English 
readers  can  hardly  conceive,  but  I  am  told  my  American 
friends  have  a  faint  glimpse  of  it  in  the  occasional  deport- 
ment of  their  "helps"  in  out-of-the-way  places. 

Now,  Tom,  and  especially  Jenny,  had  looked  forward  to 
reigning  in  their  own  house;  it  was  therefore  a  disappoint- 
ment when  they  found  themselves  snubbed  and  treated  with 
hauteur,  and  Jenny  revolted  against  servant  after  servant, 
who  straightway  abdicated  and  left  her  forlorn.  At  last 
their  advertisement  was  answered  by  a  male  candidate  for 
menial  authority,  who  proved  to  be  Mr.  Miles,  their  late  mas- 
ter. Tom  and  Jenny  coloured  up,  and  both  agreed  it  was  out 
of  the  question — they  should  feel  too  ashamed.  Mr.  Miles 
answered  by  offering  to  bet  a  crown  he  should  make  them 
the  best  servant  in  the  street,  and  strange  to  say  the  bargain 
was  struck,  and  he  did  turn  out  a  model  servant.  He  was 
civil  and  respectful,  especially  in  public,  and  never  abused  his 
situation.  Comparing  his  conduct  with  his  predecessors,  it 
really  appeared  that  a  gentleman  can  beat  snobs  in  various 
relations  of  life.  As  Tom's  master  and  Jenny's,  he  had  never 
descended  to  servility,  nor  was  he  betrayed  into  arrogance 
now  that  he  had  risen  to  be  their  servant. 

A  word  about  Jacky.  After  the  meal  off  the  scented  rab- 
bit in  the  bush,  Robinson  said  slyly  to  George,  *T  thought 
you  promised  Jacky  a  hiding — well,  here  he  is." 

693 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Now,  Tom,"  replied  the  other,  colouring  up,  "is  it  rea- 
sonable? and  he  has  just  saved  our  two  lives ;  but  if  you  think 
that  I  won't  take  him  to  task,  you  are  much  mistaken." 

George  then  remonstrated  with  the  chief  for  spoiling  Ab- 
ner  with  his  tomahawk.  Jacky  opened  his  eyes  with  aston- 
ishment and  admiration.  Here  was  another  instance  of  the 
white  fellow's  wonderful  power  of  seeing  things  a  good  way 
behind  him.  He  half  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  in  humble 
imitation  to  peer  back  into  the  past.  Yes,  he  could  just  man- 
age to  see  himself  very  indistinctly  giving  Abner  a  crack ; 
but  stop :  let  him  see,  it  was  impossible  to  be  positive,  but 
was  not  there  also  some  small  trifle  of  insolence,  ingratitude, 
and  above  all  bungality,  on  the  part  of  this  Abner?  When 
the  distance  had  become  too  great  to  see  the  whole  of  a  trans- 
action, why  strain  the  eyes  looking  at  a  part?  Finally,  Jacky 
submitted  that  these  microscopic  researches  cost  a  good  deal 
of  trouble,  and  on  the  whole  his  tribe  were  wiser  than  the 
white  fellows  in  this,  that  they  revelled  in  the  present,  and 
looked  on  the  past  as  a  period  that  never  had  been,  and  the 
future  as  one  that  never  would  be.  On  this  George  resigned 
the  moral  culture  of  his  friend.  "Soil  is  not  altogether  bad," 
said  Agricola,  'but.  bless  your  heart,  it  isn't  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  deep." 

On  George's  departure,  Jacky,  being  under  the  temporary 
impression  of  his  words,  collected  together  a  mixed  company 
of  blacks,  and  marched  them  to  his  possessions  Arrived,  he 
harangued  them  on  the  cleverness  of  the  white  fellows,  and 
invited  them  to  play  at  Europeans. 

"Behold  this  ingenious  structure,"  said  he  in  Australian; 
"this  is  called  a  house;  its  use  is  to  protect  us  from  the 
weather  at  night ;  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  notice  which  way 
the  wind  blows,  and  go  and  lie  down  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  house,  and  there  you  are.  Then,  again,  when  you  are 
cold,  you  will  find  a  number  of  wooden  articles  in  the  house. 
You  go  in,  you  bring  them  out  and  burn  them  and  are 
warm."  He  then  produced  what  he  had  always  considered 
the  chef  d'oetivre  of  the  white  races,  a  box  of  lucifer-matches; 
this  too  was  a  present  from  George.  "See  what  clever  fel- 
lows they  are,"  said  he;  "they  carry  about  fire,  which  is  fire 
or  not  fire  at  the  fortunate  possessor's  will" — and  he  let  off 

694 


^ 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 

a  lucifer.  These  the  tribe  admired,  but  doubted  whether  all 
those  little  sticks  had  the  same  marvellous  property,  and 
would  become  fire  in  the  hour  of  need.  Jacky  sneered  at 
their  incredulity,  and  let  them  all  off  one  by  one  in  a  series  of 
preliminary  experiments ;  this  impaired  their  future  useful- 
ness. In  short,  they  settled  there :  one  or  two  heads  had  to 
be  broken  for  killing  the  breeders  for  dinner,  and  that  prac- 
tice stopped ;  but  the  pot-bellied  youngsters  generally  cele- 
brated the  birth  of  a  lamb  by  spearing  it. 

They  slept  on  the  lee  side  of  the  house,  warmed  at  night 
by  the  chairs  and  tables,  etc.,  which  they  lighted.  They  got 
on  very  nicely,  only  one  fine  morning,  without  the  slightest 
warning,  whir-r-r-r  they  all  went  off  to  the  woods,  Jacky  and 
all,  and  never  returned.  The  remaining  bullocks  strayed  de- 
vious, and  the  douce  M'Laughlan  blandly  absorbed  the  sheep. 
Hasty  and  imperfect  as  my  sketch  of  this  Jacky  is,  give  it  a 
place  in  your  notebook  of  sketches,  for  in  a  few  years  the 
Australian  savage  will  breathe  only  in  these  pages,  and  the 
Saxon  plough  will  erase  his  very  grave,  his  milmeridien. 

brutus  lived ;  but  the  form  and  strength  he  had  abused  were 
gone — he  is  the  shape  of  a  note  of  interrogation,  and  by  a 
coincidence  is  now  an  "asker,"  i.e.,  he  begs,  receives  alms, 
and  sets  on  a  gang  of  burglars  with  whom  he  is  in  league  to 
rob  the  good  Christians  that  show  him  pity. 

mephistopheles  came  suddenly  to  grief.  When  gold  was 
found  in  Victoria  he  crossed  over  to  that  port  and  robbed. 
One  day  he  robbed  the  tent  of  an  old  man,  a  native  of  the 
colony,  who  was  digging  there  with  his  son,  a  lad  of  fifteen. 
Now  these  currency  lads  are  very  sharp  and  determined :  the 
youngster  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  retiring  thief,  and  followed 
him  and  saw  him  enter  a  tent.  He  watched  at  the  entrance, 
and  when  mephistopheles  came  out  again,  he  put  a  pistol  to 
the  man's  breast  and  shot  him  dead  without  a  word  of  remon- 
strance, accusation,  or  explanation. 

A  few  diggers  ran  out  of  their  claims.  "If  our  gold  is  not 
on  him,"  says  the  youngster,  "I  have  made  a  mistake." 

The  gold  was  found  on  the  carcass,  and  the  diggers  went 
coolly  back  to  their  work. 

The  youngster  went  directly  to  the  commissioner  and  told 
him  what  he  had  done,     ''I  don't  see  that  I  am  called  on  to 

695 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO   MEND 

interfere,"  replied  that  functionary ;  "he  was  taken  in  the 
fact;  you  have  buried  him,  of  course." 

"Not  I.     I  let  him  lie  for  whoever  chose  to  own  him." 

"You  let  him  lie?  What,  when  there  is  a  printed  order 
from  the  Government  stuck  over  the  whole  mine  that  nobody 
is  to  leave  carrion  about !  You  go  off  directly  and  bury  your 
carrion,  or  you  will  get  into  trouble,  young  man."  And  the 
official's  manner  became  harsh  and  threatening. 

If  ever  a  man  was  "shot  like  a  dog,"  surely  the  assassin  of 
Carlo  was. 

Mr.  Meadows  in  the  prison  refused  his  food  and  fell  into  a 
deep  depression ;  but  the  third  day  he  revived  and  fell  to 
scheming  again.  He  sent  to  Mr.  Levi  and  offered  to  give 
him  a  long  lease  of  his  old  house  if  he  would  but  be  absent 
from  the  trial.  This  was  a  sore  temptation  to  the  old  man. 
But  meantime  stronger  measures  were  taken  in  his  defence 
and  without  consulting  him. 

One  evening  that  Susan  and  George  were  in  the  garden  at 
Grassmere,  suddenly  an  old  woman  came  towards  them  with 
slow  and  hesitating  steps.  Susan  fled  at  the  sight  of  her — 
she  hated  the  very  name  this  old  woman  bore.  George  stood 
his  ground,  looking  sheepish ;  the  old  woman  stood  before 
him  trembling  violently  and  fighting  against  her  tears.  She 
could  not  speak,  but  held  out  a  letter  to  him.  He  took  it, 
the  ink  was  rusty,  it  was  written  twenty  years  ago;  it  was 
from  his  mother  to  her  neighbour  Mrs.  Meadows,  then  on  a 
visit  at  Newborough,  telling  her  how  young  John  had  fought 
for  and  protected  her  against  a  band  of  drunken  ruffians,  and 
how  grateful  she  was.  "And  I  do  hope,  dame,  he  will  be  as 
good  friends  with  my  lads  when  they  are  men  as  you  and  I 
have  been  this  many  a  day." 

George  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time.  He  held  the  letter, 
and  it  trembled  a  little  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  the  old 
woman  standing  a  piteous  silent  supplicant.  "Mrs.  Mead- 
ows," said  he,  scarce  above  a  whisper,  "give  me  this  letter,  if 
you  will  be  so  good.  I  have  not  got  her  handwriting  except 
our  names  in  the  Bible." 

She  gave  him  the  letter  half-reluctantly,  and  looked  fear- 
fully and  inquiringly  in  his  face.  He  smiled  kindly,  and  a 
sort  of  proud  curl  came  for  a  moment  to  his  lip.  and  the 

696 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

woman  read  the  man.  This  royal  rustic  would  not  have 
taken  the  letter  if  he  had  not  granted  the  mother's  unspoken 
prayer. 

"God  bless  you  both !"  said  she,  and  went  on  her  way. 

The  assizes  came,  and  Meadows's  two  plaintiffs  both  were 
absent ;  Robinson  gone  to  Australia,  and  George  forfeited  his 
recognisances  and  had  to  pay  a  hundred  pound  for  it.  The 
defendants  were  freed.  Then  Isaac  Levi  said  to  himself, 
"He  will  not  keep  faith  with  me."  But  he  did  not  know  his 
man.  Meadows  had  a  conscience,  though  an  oblique  one.  A 
promise  from  him  was  sacred  in  his  own  eyes.  A  man  came 
to  Grassmere  and  left  a  hundred  pound  in  a  letter  for  George 
Fielding.  Then  he  went  on  to  Levi  and  gave  him  a  parcel 
and  a  note.  The  parcel  contained  the  title-deeds  of  the 
house,  and  the  note  said,  "Take  the  house  and  the  furniture 
and  pay  me  what  you  consider  they  are  worth.  And,  old 
man,  I  think  you  might  take  your  curse  off  me,  for  I  have 
never  known  a  heart  at  rest  since  you  laid  it  on  me,  and  you 
see  now  our  case  is  altered — you  have  a  home  now  and  John 
Meadows  has  none." 

Then  the  old  man  was  softened,  and  he  wrote  a  line  in 
reply,  and  said,  "Three  just  men  shall  value  the  house  and 
furniture,  and  I  will  pay,  etc.,  etc.  Put  now  adversity  to 
profit — repent  and  prosper.  Isaac  Levi  wishes  you  no  ill 
from  this  day,  but  rather  good."  Thus  died,  as  mortal  feel- 
ings are  apt  to  die,  an  enmity  its  owners  thought  immortal. 

A  steam-vessel  glided  down  the  Thames  bound  for  Port 
Philip.  On  the  deck  were  to  be  seen  a  little  girl  crying  bit- 
terly— this  was  Hannah — a  stalwart  yeoman-like  figure,  who 
stood  unmoved  as  the  shores  glided  by, 

"Omne  solum  forti  patria," 

and  an  old  woman  who  held  his  arm  as  if  she  needed  to  feel 
him  at  the  moment  of  leaving  her  native  land.  This  old 
woman  had  hated  and  denounced  his  sins,  and  there  was 
scarce  a  point  of  morality  on  which  she  thoroughly  agreed 
with  him.  Yet  at  threescore  years  and  ten  she  left  her  na- 
tive land  with  two  sole  objects— to  comfort  this  stout  man 
and  win  him  to  repentance. 

"He  shall  repent,"  said  she  to  herself.    "Even  now  his  eyes 

697 


IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

are  opening,  his  heart  is  softening.  Three  times  he  has  said 
to  me,  'That  George  Fielding  is  a  better  man  than  I  am.'  He 
will  repent.  Again  he  said  to  me,  T  have  thought  too  little 
of  you,  and  too  much  where  it  was  a  sin  for  me  even  to  look.' 
He  will  repent — his  voice  is  softer — he  bears  no  malice — he 
blames  none  but  himself.  It  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  He 
will  repent,  and  I  shall  see  him  happy  and  lay  my  old  bones 
to  rest  contented,  though  not  where  I  thought  to  lay  them, 
in  Grassmere  Churchyard." 

Ah !  you  do  well  to  hold  that  quaint  little  old  figure  with 
that  strong  arm  closer  to  you  than  you  have  done  this  many 
years,  ay,  since  you  were  a  curly-headed  boy.  It  is  a  good 
sign ;  John,  on  neither  side  of  the  equator  shall  you  ever  find 
a  friend  like  her: 

"All  other  love  is  mockery  and  deceit, 
'Tis  like  the  mirage  of  the  desert,  that  appears 
A  cool  refreshing  water,  and  allures 
The  thirsty  traveller,  but  flies  anon, 
And  leaves  him  disappointed,  wondering 
So   fair  a   vision   should   so  futile   prove. 
A  mother's  love  is  like  unto  a   well 
Sealed  and  kept  secret,  a  deep-hidden  fount 
That  flows  when  every  other  spring  is  dry."' 

Peter  Crawley,  left  to  his  own  resources,  practises  at  the 
County  Courts  in  his  old  neighbourhood,  and  drinks  with  all 
his  clients,  who  are  of  the  lowest  imaginable  order.  He  com- 
plains that  "he  can't  peck,"  yet  continues  the  cause  of  his 
infirmity,  living  almost  entirely  upon  cock-a-doodle  broth — 
eggs  beat  up  in  brandy  and  a  little  water.  Like  Scipio,  he 
is  never  less  alone  than  when  alone ;  with  this  difference,  that 
the  companions  of  P.  C.'s  solitude  do  not  add  to  the  pleasure 
of  his  existence.  Unless  somebody  can  make  him  see  that  it 
is  never  too  late  to  mend,  this  little  rogue,  fool,  and  sot  will 
"shut  up  like  a  knife  some  day"  (so  says  a  medical  friend), 
and  then  it  will  be  too  late. 

It  is  nine  in  the  evening.  A  little  party  is  collected  of 
farmers  and  their  wives  and  daughters.  Mrs.  George  Field- 
ing rises  and  says,  "Now  I  must  go  home."  (Remonstrance 
of  hostess.)     "George  will  be  at  home  by  now." 

*  Sophia  Woodroofife. 
698 


IT   IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND 

"Well,  wait  till  he  comes  for  you." 

"Oh,  he  won't  come,  for  fear  of  shortening  my  pleasure." 

Susan  then  explains  that  George  is  so  fullish  that  he  never 
will  go  into  the  house  when  she  is  not  in  it  "And  here  is  a 
drizzle  come  on,  and  there  he  will  be  sitting  out  in  it,  I  know, 
if  I  don't  go  and  drive  him  in." 

Events  justify  the  prediction.  The  good  wife  finds  her 
husband  sitting  on  the  gate  kicking  his  heels  quite  contented 
and  peaceable,  only  he  would  not  pay  the  house  the  compli- 
ment of  going  into  it  when  she  was  not  there.  He  told  her 
once  he  looked  on  it  as  no  better  than  a  coal-hole  when  she 
was  not  shining  up  and  down  it.  N.B. — They  have  been 
some  years  married.  A  calm  but  very  tender  conjugal  love 
sits  at  this  innocent  hearth. 

George  has  made  a  great  concession  for  an  Englishman. 
He  has  solemnly  deposited  before  witnesses  his  sobriquet  of 
"Unlucky  George,"  not  (he  was  careful  to  explain)  because 
he  found  the  great  nugget,  nor  because  the  meadow  he 
bought  in  Bathurst  for  two  hundred  pounds  has  just  been 
sold  by  Robinson  for  twelve  thousand  pounds,  but  on  account 
of  his  being  Susan's  husband. 

And  Susan  is  very  happy.  Besides  the  pleasure  of  loving 
and  being  loved,  she  is  in  her  place  in  creation.  The  class  of 
woman  (a  very  large  one),  to  which  she  belongs,  comes  into 
the  world  to  make  others  happy.  Susan  is  skilful  at  this  and 
very  successful.  She  makes  everybody  happy  round  her, 
"and  that  is  so  pleasant."  She  makes  the  man  she  loves 
happy,  and  that  is  delightful. 

My  reader  shall  laugh  at  her :  my  unfriendly  critic  shall 
sneer  at  her.  As  a  heroine  of  a  novel,  she  deserves  it :  but 
I  hope  for  their  own  sakes  neither  will  undervalue  the  orig- 
inal in  their  passage  through  life.  These  average  women 
are  not  the  spice  of  fiction,  but  they  are  the  salt  of  real  life. 

William  Fielding  is  godfather  to  Susan's  little  boy. 

He  can  stand  by  his  brother's  side  and  look  without  com- 
punction on  Anne  Fielding's  grave,  and  think  without  an 
unmanly  shudder  of  his  own. 

THE  END. 
699 


I 


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